


Tremble

by secondstar



Series: Her Blood on His Bones [1]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemon, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF!Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cliffhangers, Daemons, Explicit Sexual Content, Hypothermia, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pain, Rimming, Soul Bond, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 58,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles may be cursed but that doesn’t mean he’s going to lay down and die. He’s going to fight. He won’t stop, he can’t stop. If he does, they win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Preface**

This fic is _loosely_ based on Philip Pullman’s _His Dark Materials_ series. While it is not necessary to have read that series, here is some background information that may be helpful while reading:

 **Daemon.** In this universe, a human’s soul is manifested as a separate entity. That manifestation, the daemon, takes the form of an animal – either real or imaginary – that possesses both human intelligence and the power of speech. A daemon is most often the opposite gender of its human. Certain rules of etiquette surround touching another person’s daemon: the practice is almost strictly taboo; however, certain exceptions are made. One of those is between lovers, as the touching of one’s daemon makes the human vulnerable. Although a daemon can move independently of its human, they share a strong metaphysical bond. If the two separate more than a few yards, they experience a reaction called “pulling,” which can result in physical, mental, and emotional distress. This bond is so strong that one cannot survive without the other. 

**The Magisterium.** This universe is governed by an institution known as the Magisterium. It is an oppressive organization that controls by guarding secrets. The Magisterium consists of smaller groups of councils and lesser courts. 

 

**Prologue**

Memories are a fickle thing. Some fade in time, only vague outlines remain after awhile. Then there are the ones that are ingrained within the mind forever. 

Stiles will always remember the day his mother died. 

At the age of eleven, Stiles couldn’t stay still. He had endless amounts of energy and rarely spent time inside no matter what the weather was like. That day stood out in his mind because it had been snowing. He remembered being bundled up tight, his mother kissing his nose as she pulled a warm knitted hat over his ears, pushing it back so that he would be able to see. She wrapped him up tight in a newly made scarf full of her favorite colors, maroon and gold. It was soft to the touch against his skin. Stiles watched her, with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, as she tugged on his gloves. Her arms were covered in remarkable tattoos inked in red. The symbols snaked up her arms and crawled down her back. She called it her curse, rarely speaking about it to him. His father didn’t talk about it either, avoiding Stiles’ questions. Stiles liked them, he thought they were beautiful. He liked tracing them as she read bedtime stories that were full of past heroes and adventures. He reached a finger out, trailing it over her forearm.

“Don’t roam far, Stiles,” she scolded. “No woods today.” 

“Alright,” Stiles said, fidgeting while she buttoned his warmest coat, lined with fur to keep him warm. Stiles watched his daemon, Adara, bounce around the room as a rabbit, just as eager as he was to get outside. Adara had yet to settle, which was not uncommon. Stiles hadn’t reached puberty so it was perfectly normal that one moment Adara would be a rabbit, then within the blink of an eye she would be a mouse small enough to fit in his coat pocket. 

Adara hated to be carried, though. She would rather run up ahead of Stiles, then circle back around as she waited for him to catch up to her. She was impatient much like he was. She fed off of his nervous energy, expelling it by excitedly hopping around the room, waiting for Stiles to be ready to go out into the cold. His mother’s daemon, Kartal, a marmot, sat by her side, eyeing Adara as if she was annoying him. Stiles stuck his tongue out at Kartal as his mother retied his boots. 

“Tongue in your mouth, Stiles,” she grinned, then shooed him out the door. It was one of the last things she had ever said to him. 

Stiles had been making a snow castle at the edge of the woods when the men arrived. Adara was the first to notice them approaching. 

“Stiles,” she keened, running around him, then circling up his leg as a ferret, clinging to him as she dug her way into the hood of his coat, her fur brushing against his neck. “Someone is approaching the house.” 

Stiles, ever curious, forgot about his half-made castle and made his way back to the house. He was almost to the back door when he heard shouting. His father wasn’t home, he was out on patrol. Wide eyed, Stiles ran around to the front of the house to the vehicles the intruders had rode in on. Stiles pulled out his pocket knife, which he always had on him. His attention turned back towards the house as he heard a scream - Kartal’s. It sounded as if someone had grabbed him. Stiles winced, thinking about the pain of someone touching his daemon. Stiles shuddered, thinking about his mother, thinking about the men inside his house. Stiles stabbed a wheel of the truck, puncturing it. 

He then scrambled, making his way to the back of the house, climbing the stones he knew so well up to his room. He always left the window unlatched so he could come and go as he pleased. He rolled onto the floor, gasping for air, listening. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” his mother spat. There was a smack and a gasp. Stiles’ blood boiled. They had hit his mother. 

“You couldn’t hide forever, Moira,” a man’s voice said, clearly unamused. Stiles tugged his gloves and hat off, along with the scarf. He needed to be able to move easier. Adara popped into a sparrow, flying around the room until she perched on the banister out in the hallway. 

“I wasn’t hiding,” Moira panted, her voice carrying up the stairs. Stiles walked out slowly, his knife in his hand. “You’ll have to kill me before I’ll go with you. I will never be compliant.” His heart was beating in his throat, because he knew she was speaking the truth. His mother was going to die. 

Stiles ran into his parent’s bedroom, pulling out the box underneath their bed where he knew that his dad kept his weapons. The box was locked, of course. The key in his mother’s jewelry box. Stiles stumbled, almost falling as he tripped on Adara. He glared at her, but didn’t say a word. If either of them so much as spoke they would be found. He knew how well noise carried in the house. He opened the box carefully, minding the noise it made as it squeaked open. A knife with a serrated edge caught his eye. He had used it a few times with his father after he came back from hunting. 

Stiles took the knife in his hand, pocketing his smaller, insignificant one. There was a gun as well, but Stiles knew he couldn’t use it. Calmly, Stiles stood up, then walked down the stairs. They were in the kitchen, at the back of the house. Stiles was careful to skip over the two stairs that creaked if you stepped on them. With his back flat against the wall, he listened and waited.

“Knock her out, we don’t have time for this,” another man said impatiently. Stiles paid attention, trying to count how many men there were. One came into view with his back turned towards Stiles. He was huge, bigger than his father. Stiles gulped. The man’s daemon sat on his shoulder, a crow. 

Stiles hated crows. 

It turned his vile head towards him, squawking like the tattle tale it was. Stiles ran forward, slashing the man’s leg. The knife cut cleanly, blood spilling onto the hardwood floor. It set off a chain reaction. Gunfire and screaming filled his ears. Someone grabbed him around his middle, hoisting him into the air. Stiles flailed, kicking until he knocked the assailant square between the legs. His daemon, a vicious viper, snapped at Stiles, but his reflexes saved him by slicing its head off. The man wailed at the death of his daemon, being disconnected from his soul as it burst into dust, golden and bright. The man dropped to the ground, good as dead. Stiles turned towards his mother, screaming as he saw her on the ground, blood surrounding her. She was shot. Stiles slid to the ground, grabbing hold of her hands, slick with blood where she had pressed her palm to the wound. 

“Stiles,” she whispered, breathless. “You can’t let them find you, to know about you.” Stiles knit his brow together, confused. Moira gasped for breath, wincing in pain. “One got away, he can’t know-” 

“Mom,” Stiles wailed, tears falling freely down his frost bitten cheeks. “He won’t, he won’t go anywhere, but you can’t die.” 

“Sweetheart,” she said as a hand reached up and touched his cheek. “You were so brave.”   
Stiles closed his eyes, his hands on her arms. Her arm dropped, then, the spark inside of her going out. Stiles opened his eyes, darting over her body, shaking her. Beside her, Kartal faded away, as if he was only smoke.

“Mom,” he begged. “Mom, wake up.” She didn’t, though. Stiles knelt by her, shaking with anger. 

And then he gasped. He felt warmth spreading through his body, tingling, followed by pain. Searing pain. Stiles screamed, his fists tightening around the fabric of his mother’s dress as he bent forward. He opened his eyes, his chest heaving from the feel of it. His mother’s tattoos were glowing. Stiles had never seen anything like it. He pushed himself off of his mother’s body, slipping on her blood as he tried to back away. 

Dust. Gold dust trailed slowly from her body to his. Stiles panted, wiping at it as it touched his skin. It burned him. Stiles squirmed, swatting at it as best as he could, panicked. It hurt, it felt like he was touching fire, like he was rolling around in it. Stiles grit his teeth, tears of agony bursting from his eyes. 

Stiles blacked out from the pain. 

He woke up to Adara licking his cheek. She was a fox, her paws bloodied from sitting in the puddle of blood that surrounded them. Stiles’ eyes shot open, his body sore and irritated. His mother lay still, lifeless. Stiles was covered in her blood. Stiles shook as he tried to get up. 

“Addie, that man-” Stiles began to say, when he heard footsteps. Stiles looked around for his father’s knife, a sharp twinge in his back making him squeak. 

“She had an heir,” a man’s voice rang out. Stiles gulped as his fingers gripped tightly to the hilt. “Perfect.” 

“Stay away from me,” Stiles growled. 

“Are you the little shit who slashed my tire?” Stiles glared at him. The man’s eyes went from Stiles, to his mother, then back at Stiles again. “Has the transfer already happened?” He asked. Stiles’ jaw set tight as the man grinned at him. “You’re mine now.” The man reached for Stiles, gripping his hand that held the knife, squeezing it until it dropped to the ground. Stiles screamed as the man pushed him to the ground, shoving his coat out of the way. Stiles kicked and flailed his arms as he was stripped down. Stiles managed to get away, crawling across the ground. 

His freedom was short lived, though, because the assailant grabbed his leg, pulling him back. Stiles dragged his nails across the man’s arm, breaking the skin. He was back handed and immediately curled into a ball, his own hands coming up to his face, cupping his cheek. The man ripped Stiles’ sweater and shirt with his father’s knife, then laughed triumphantly. 

“Perfection,” the man exclaimed smugly. “A mere child as the Alethiometer.” Stiles’ entire body shook as he was picked up off of the bloodied floor. “You are mine, now.” 

“You put my son down, now,” his father bellowed. Stiles burst into tears at the sound of his father’s voice. The man had Stiles by his stomach, his arms and legs draped towards the floor. His face stung, his back ached, and he was covered in his mother’s blood. His father had a gun aimed at the assailant. 

“You cannot hide from the Magisterium,” the man said with a smirk. “We will stop at nothing-”

Stiles dropped to the floor as the man was shot dead with a bullet to the head. Stiles looked up to find his father shaking his head at the sight before his eyes. 

The next thing he knew, Stiles was being wrapped up in a blanket, his father holding him close. Stiles wept, his bloodied hands wrapping around his father’s neck. It was then that he noticed his arms: they were covered in his mother’s tattoos. The symbols scrolled up his arms in intricate designs and patterns. Stiles looked at his mother’s body, seeing bare skin. 

Stiles bit his lip, burying his face against his father’s chest. It seemed as though Stiles now held his mother’s curse.


	2. Chapter 2

**seven years later.**

Stiles stepped out of the bath grabbing hold of a towel, wrapping it around his waist. He wiped his hand over the mirror by the sink, ridding it of condensation. Stiles filled the water basin, then slowly prepared his shaving kit. Then, he smoothed on cream, reaching for his razor, flicking it open with ease. He tilted his neck, running the blade up his neck, angled perfectly. Stiles breathed through his mouth, his lips slightly parted, his eyes never leaving the razor at his throat. 

He took his time in silence, taking care not to nick himself on the sharp blade. When he was through he toweled himself off the rest of the way, then hung it up. 

He grabbed his pants off the floor, pulling them up one leg at a time. He walked out of the bathroom, down the hall to his bedroom. It was small, enough room for a single bed pushed against the wall and a single dresser that also acted as a nightstand. It had an oil lamp on it, unlit due to the daylight passing in through the window. Stiles pulled open the top drawer, shoving aside a sweater, his scarf, digging for a clean linen shirt. His jaw set tight, he groaned when he couldn’t find one. He turned his attention to his unmade bed, clothes strewn on top of it, acting as an extra blanket. Stiles pilfered through the clothes, smelling each shirt as he picked them up. He found one that was passable, pulling it on. 

Stiles always wore long sleeves, preferring them to cover most of his hands as well. This shirt in particular had holes so that his thumbs fit through perfectly, keeping it from riding up his arms. Stiles grabbed a pair of socks, shoving his feet inside his boots. Just as he finished tying them he felt Adara nudge his arm with her nose. 

“Morning, sleepy,” he murmured with a grin, his hand moving to pet her head. Adara pawed at his fingers, pushing him off of her. 

“Don’t,” she nipped. 

“What? No affection this morning?” She stretched, yawning, clawing slightly at his clothes. She was a fox, her body mostly reds and auburns, her paws black. She had settled amidst the blood and horror of Moira’s death. A rite of passage forced upon the pair of them. 

The house they were staying in was small, tiny in fact. Usually if Stiles had been far from her, he would feel their connection pulling at him. It was painful, being away from her. But the bathroom was right next door, and was barely big enough for the tub and the sink, with the outhouse out back. He barely felt a thing when he was in the tub. 

Stiles heard footsteps, creaking with every step up the narrow stairway. His father appeared in the doorway, hands on his hips. His daemon, Laertes, a husky, padded up behind him. Adara got up and sat in Stiles’ lap, looking out the window, unamused. 

“I’m off,” he said, “are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Stiles shook his head, absentmindedly petting Adara as he looked at the floor. Stiles’ father was the local Sheriff, going on patrols for days at a time, leaving Stiles alone. The last couple of times Stiles had gone with him. 

“I’m sure,” Stiles answered. “I didn’t pack, and I’m going to help Scott patch up their roof.” The Sheriff smiled, nodding his head. 

“You be careful,” he told Stiles. Stiles nodded back. They moved around, a lot. The Sheriff always found work, towns always needed protecting. 

The Magisterium’s forces were no help to small towns and villages, sticking to major cities. Stiles never went near major cities, it wasn’t safe for him, there. They stayed north, in the cold, in small villages and outlying towns. 

“Don’t forget, you promised to chop Mrs. Odair some more wood-”

“Yes,” Stiles answered. 

“And fix Mr. Newhouse’s-”

“Stairs, yes. I will,” Stiles said, looking up at his dad, his face stoic. “I can do this, Dad. I’m not a child.” 

“I know,” the Sheriff whispered, mostly to himself. He sighed, giving Stiles one last look before he walked back down the stairs. Laertes stayed a few seconds longer, her blue eyes trained on him. Silently, she left too, before the Sheriff got too far away from her. Stiles pushed at Adara, making her get off of his lap. 

“Did you and Laer get in a tiff or something?” He asked, getting up to grab his hat and scarf from his drawer. Adara scoffed, jumping to the floor, waiting by the door. 

“Your father is worried about you.”

“So you getting all up in my business and sitting in my lap helps with that how?” Stiles asked as he walked over her, taking the stairs two at a time, his hands above his head, hitting the beams of the low lying ceiling. 

“Because it does, his body language-”

“Bah,” Stiles called out, walking into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat before heading out for the day. “Bullshit, Addie.”

“Is there any cheese left?” Adara asked, her paws up on the small table. Stiles swatted her away. 

“No cheese for lapfoxes.” Adara sneered at him, showing her teeth in warning. “Don’t give me that look. I will give you cheese if you stop coddling me.” 

“I don’t coddle.” Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“There is no cheese. I bet dad took the rest of it for his trip.”

“What is there, then?” She asked. Stiles looked around, biting his tongue. 

“Bread, grapes, some jerky-”

“Jerky!” Adara said, bounding around the room. Stiles tossed her a few pieces, saving some for himself. He tore off some bread as well, then made his way out the back door, wrapping his scarf around his neck. Its colors were faded now, but Stiles didn’t mind. His hat was the same, frayed and worn, but he refused to throw either away. It was nearing winter, fall in full swing. He didn’t need his sweater yet, or his coat. Long sleeves and a scarf would keep him warm enough. He knew he would warm up once he started work on Mrs. McCall’s roof. 

Scott’s house was on the opposite side of town, which took Stiles approximately thirty minutes to walk to at a leisurely stroll, Adara doing her usually walk ahead quickly, then circle around only to run ahead of him again. She pounced on stray leaves, picked up twigs and tossed them in the air, chased her own tail. She physically showed how hyper she really was, while Stiles kept his bottled up in nervous energy. 

“Shit,” Stiles muttered when he realized he left his pocket knife on his dresser. “Dammit, Addie, I forgot my knife.” 

“Scott will have his,” Adara called out. Stiles stopped walking, biting his lip as he thought about how naked he felt without it. “Stiles, we’re almost there.”

Stiles groaned. 

“Fine,” he called out, starting to walk once more. Around him the villagers were going about their daily tasks. He walked through the square where the market was set up. He thought about the lack of food in their house, and how he should have grabbed some money to pick things up. “Remind me later to get something from the market.”

“Remind yourself,” Adara quipped. Stiles kicked a stone at her, smirking. Adara pounced around him, teasingly. 

“No cheese, then.” Adara nipped at his heels in protest. 

When Stiles arrived at Scott’s house, he saw that Scott was already up on the roof, patching it. 

“Scott!” Stiles called out, grinning when Scott almost lost his footing. 

“You scared me!” Scott yelled down at him. “Get up here and help.” Stiles held onto Adara with one arm as he climbed the wooden ladder. She hopped from his grasp once he reached the top, tackling Scott’s daemon, Kamilai, a meerkat. Kami had been sunbathing, before Adara interrupted her. Stiles sat down next to Scott, grabbing the water skin that he had brought up with him, taking a long swig of it. It was hot up on the roof, so Stiles took off his hat and scarf, hanging them off the ladder. 

“What do you want me to do?” Stiles asked. 

He spent the next few hours running up and down the ladder, bringing up supplies for Scott. He laid some the roofing himself, but mostly fetched. Stiles had just grabbed his hat, scarf, and Adara to head to Mrs. Odair’s when he noticed one of his neighbors running towards him. Stiles looked around, his hair standing on edge as he approached. 

“Stiles!” Mr. Steel said as he ran up, his daemon, a small black bear, bounded up behind him. 

“What is it?” Stiles asked, wrapping his scarf around his neck. 

“Some men just showed up looking for-” Stiles’ eyes widened, his heartbeat picked up immediately. “For you and your father.”

“Not now,” Stiles whined to no one. “Thank you, Mr. Steel,” Stiles said, using his proper name, like he did with everyone he met, except for Scott. “I’ve got to...” Stiles looked up at Scott. “Scott!” Stiles called out. “Come down here, fast!” 

Scott scurried, with Kamilai on his shoulder, hopping down the last few rungs. “Scott, I’ve got to get out of here, now,” Stiles whispered, pulling Scott into his own house. “I need a pack, a knife, food. I need money-” Stiles walked in a circle around their kitchen table. “I can’t go home, I can’t get anything.”

“What? Why? What do you mean you need to get out of here?” Scott asked. Stiles rubbed his face, exasperated. He hadn’t told Scott, hadn’t shown him. Because he told no one his secret, about his curse. It was his and his alone. 

“Some people just showed up at my house, I can’t stay here anymore.” 

“What about your dad?” Scott asked, confused. Stiles stomped his foot, his anger bubbling to the surface. 

“I can’t wait for him, he just left this morning. At least he is gone. If I had gone with him I would be safe.” Safe for now. Stiles thought about what would have happened had he gone back home for his knife and shuddered. “Scott, do you have a pack and a knife?” Stiles asked. “If not I need to go find one.” 

“I think so?” Scott said, running upstairs. Stiles thought about his things, about his coat, his sweater, his knives. He looked at Adara. 

“We are so screwed.” 

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

“Don’t be so- agh,” Stiles scratched at his neck. He was getting antsy. He needed to run. Scott came down the stairs with two packs, stuffed already. “What? What is that?” Stiles asked, looking from pack to pack. 

“One for you, and one for me,” Scott pointed out, setting them both down, along with two thigh holsters, knives already in them. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles asked, pointing at the knives. “Where did you get those?”

“My dad left them,” Scott mumbled, strapping his to his leg. Stiles took the second, doing the same. Scott began stuffing food into the packs until they were full. There would be time later to pack it neater. Stiles watched him, biting his lip. 

“Scott you can’t come with me,” Stiles admitted. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You’re my best friend,” Scott said, as if that covered his reasoning for coming along. Stiles looked at Adara who was seated at his feet. 

“Scott you’ve never left the village.”

“So, it’s time for me to see the world,” Scott mused, a smile on his face. Stiles wanted to knock him out and take the pack so he could go off alone, but the prospect of having Scott with him did put him more at ease. Stiles sighed. 

“Okay, but we need to go-” There was a knock at Scott’s front door. Stiles put his hand on Scott’s chest, stopping him from even taking a step. Stiles put a finger up to his mouth, making sure that Scott stayed quiet. Scott nodded, understanding. They both grabbed a pack making their way to the back door. 

As soon as Stiles was out the door, into the alleyway behind Scott’s house, he ran. Adara ran out in front of him, leading the way. He jumped over crates and dodged past barrels, the alley being narrow, not spacious like it was near his house on the outskirts of town. Scott lived in the middle of the village, where houses were stacked right next to each other, back to back with alleyways between them, mostly used as walkways and storage. Stiles turned his head to look behind him, just to see if Scott was following him or not. He was a house and a half behind him. 

Stiles skidded to a halt, then turned, headed towards the street itself. He poked his head out, looking both ways as he panted for breath. Scott rushed in behind him, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to lean on. Stiles didn’t see anyone suspicious, but then again, he wasn’t sure what the men looked like. They would have broken into Scott’s house by now, surely. Stiles swallowed down his fear, then walked out into the street like normal. 

“Act normal,” Stiles hissed between his teeth. He walked at a normal pace, wiping his face with his scarf. He knew his face was flushed from running, and his hands were shaking, but he hooked his thumbs in the straps of his pack to make himself appear calm. 

“What are we going to do?” Scott asked. “I mean, about a way out of the village? Get horses?” 

“Did you bring money?” Stiles asked. 

“I mean, I grabbed some, but I can’t get us horses with it.” Stiles bit his lip, then sighed. 

“I guess we’re walking.” Stiles chanced a look back, his eyes falling on smoke in the distance. His eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing. They had set his house on fire. All of his things were gone. Stiles bit his lip, turning away. There was no use dwelling on that fact, now. Now, they had to run for their lives. 

Stiles walked without stopping, until the houses got fewer and fewer. They were almost to the edge of the village itself when men in a vehicle, a truck, came into view. It was blocking the road. Stiles drew his eyebrows in, frowning, because he recognized the make and model of it as a Magisterium vehicle. 

First of all, trucks of any sort were rare in the country. Vehicles were used in big cities, not in villages. It stuck out like a sore thumb. Stiles pushed at Scott, urging him off the main path before they got any closer to it. Just as they skirted behind a house, Stiles ran face first into a man, dressed all in black. Stiles tried to back up, but the man held him by his pack. 

Another guy had Scott in some sort of choke hold. Stiles fumed. 

“Let him go,” Stiles urged. 

“Or what?” The man holding him asked as he looked Stiles up and down, his eyes landing on Stiles’ sleeves, on his thumbs hooked into his shirt. Stiles was shoved against the wall, the pack ripped away from him. He scrambled, pushing at the man, but he was bigger and stronger than Stiles was. He held Stiles by his neck, hoisting him up a few inches. Stiles clawed at the man’s wrist and forearm as he gasped for breath. 

“Do you know where the Alethiometer is?” The man asked. Stiles grit his teeth, remaining silent. All they had to do was yank up his shirt sleeves to know he was what they were looking for. There was no sense in lying. 

“We don’t have your stupid object,” Scott called out. “Whatever it is, we don’t have anything!” Stiles’ heart was beating in his throat as sweat beaded down from his forehead. The men chuckled to themselves, as if the thought of the Alethiometer being an object was humourous. Stiles wanted to spit on them. The grip around his neck tightened, though, causing Stiles to try harder to get away, his nails digging into the man’s skin. 

“Where are you boys headed?” The man choking Stiles asked Scott. Scott shrugged. 

“Camping.” 

“Is that so? Where is your tent? Your bedrolls?” 

“We haven’t got any,” Scott said truthfully. Stiles choked a sob as the grip on him loosened. “Don’t need it.” 

“You,” the man said, meaning Stiles, “roll up your shirtsleeves.” Stiles shook his head. The grip tightened once more. “Do it, or I will.” 

“Can I breathe first?” Stiles asked. He was dropped to the ground without hesitation. He coughed, rolling around as he held onto his neck with one hand, rubbing at it as the other reached for his thigh. He slipped the knife out, continuing to cough up a storm. 

“Alright, alright, get up-” Stiles slashed, his blade hitting the back of the man’s heel, cutting his achilles tendon, immobilizing him as he screamed in pain. Scott’s eyes widened as Stiles stood, then stabbed downwards, shoving the knife into the man’s shoulder, close to his neck, then pulling out. 

“Move!” Stiles screamed, the lunged at Scott’s captor. Scott elbowed the surprised assailant, giving himself enough time to pull out his dagger, piercing him in the gut without much finesse. Stiles added a second wound, a slash across a wrist. Of course, though, the man remained upright, and pulled his gun on Scott. Stiles panted, knife in hand, ready to strike again. The man cocked his gun, point blank, at Scott. 

“Go ahead, make a move.” The man’s daemon, a jaguar, had Adara pinned down. Stiles winced, his brow furrowed. 

“Do you really want to kill the Alethiometer?” Stiles asked. The man raised an eyebrow at him. Scott said nothing, letting Stiles take the lead. “I mean, if you want to kill the Alethiometer, then by all means.” Scott was wearing a long sleeved shirt. Either one of them could be it, really. The gun changed directions, now pointing at him. Stiles smirked. 

If he died, Scott could go back home. If he died, maybe no one would be cursed. He didn’t know how it passed from person to person, really. 

“But he’s the Alethiometer, not me!” Scott exclaimed. The man practically growled between them. He would only have one shot before one of them attacked again. The next slash Stiles made would be the man’s throat. Stiles unhooked his thumb, pushing up his sleeve just enough that some of the red ink showed, enough to catch the man’s eye. That was all the time that was needed. The gun was turned towards Scott once more and Stiles lunged, slashing quickly as a shot rang off. 

Stiles got him in the neck, slicing across, then the armpit. He looked to Scott, who stood wide eyed, his jaw dropped. Stiles wiped his face with a sleeve, bending over the first man, brushing the flat of the knife against his clothes, cleaning it before stowing it away. 

“We need to leave, now.” 

“But, what is an Aleth-” 

“Not now, Scott. We need to go before people come looking.” Stiles stood up, grabbing his pack. Adara bit at the man’s dying daemon, snapping her teeth at it as they began running towards the abandoned truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the journey begins. (I say that like they have the one ring or something. WRONG VERSE, SELF)
> 
> thank you all so much for commenting!


	3. Chapter 3

“Have you ever driven one of these?” Scott asked, his voice quavering as he climbed in, Kamilai in his lap, looking around the automobile like it was a foreign concept. Stiles shrugged, looking around at the gearstick and the pedals. 

“I have been in one?” Scott groaned as he put on the seat belt. Adara sat between the two seats, not wanting to be in Stiles’ way as he attempted to drive. 

“Stiles, maybe we should just-”

“Just walk? Do you want to just walk? There could be more, there are probably more, Scott. If we’re in their vehicle maybe they won’t follow us.” Stiles jiggled the keys until the engine revved. Scott’s eyes were wide as he held onto the armrest, watching Stiles’ every move. Stiles tried out the pedals at his feet, then shoving at the gearstick until the car was no longer staying still. 

He went backwards first, making Scott scream, Stiles shooting him a look. 

“This is ridiculous,” Stiles mumbled, sighing angrily as he shifted gears again, trying one more time. He lurched the car forward, spinning the wheel. 

“They’re going to know it is us in here,” Scott pointed out. Stiles bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say anything snarky. He had to concentrate on getting them out of the village. 

Once Stiles got going, he decided driving was easy. Well, it was easy when he didn’t have to stop, or turn, or change gears. He stalled the car four times before he realized that he had to even shift gears while the car was moving. They drove it north until they ran out of coal spirits. Or so Stiles thought, he couldn’t be completely certain but one thing he knew: they had to continue on foot. They had been on the road for a few hours, which made Stiles feel somewhat safer. 

They set out on foot, on the lookout for shelter for the night because the sun was fast approaching the skyline. Stiles didn’t want to be out in the open once nightfall hit, they weren’t prepared for it. Hell, they didn’t even have bedrolls. They were basically screwed, but Stiles wasn’t about to voice his concerns because Scott was already on edge. He hadn’t so much as left the village the entire two years that Stiles had lived there. Stiles kept looking back, making sure that Scott was still there, seeing if he was freaking out or not. 

He wasn’t, but he was talking to Kamilai in hushed whispers, which was normal. Stiles talked to Adara all the time, but not when they were on the run. Adara, like always, was up ahead, just enough that it wasn’t painful. Stiles felt a slight pull, but it wasn’t that that had him on his knees, face twisted in pain because of their distance. Sometimes Adara pushed the threshold, though, but now wasn’t the time for distance. Stiles wanted her near, close to him. He felt safer when she was nearest. 

“Addie, circle back now,” Stiles called out, stopping where he was. They went off the main road a few miles back, not wanting to be followed. Scott was wheezing behind him, holding onto Stiles’ pack, leaning against it. 

“Can we stop?” Scott asked, holding his side. “I feel like I am about to collapse.” 

“We need to find shelter, quick.” 

“Why?” Scott groaned. Stiles gave him a look, rolling his eyes slightly. It wasn’t Scott’s fault he didn’t know what sorts of dangers they could run into in the forest, or anywhere for that matter. 

“Because the sun is going down, and we are vulnerable out in the open,” Stiles swallowed his fear, because it was something real, something he couldn’t just cut with his knife. 

“How do we find somewhere, then?” Scott asked, obviously catching the fear in Stiles’ voice. Stiles looked at Scott, then at the trees surrounding them. 

“Let’s hope there’s a stream. We could follow it and hope someone has a cabin, or even better: an abandoned cabin.” Stiles didn’t trust people, at all. It took him a long time, in fact, to trust Scott. And that was after his father had practically pushed Stiles out of the house when Scott had come calling, twice. 

Stiles let out a scream of glee when they stumbled across a stream just as the sun hit the horizon. “As long as we stay with our feet splashing in the water, we can follow it even with the sun going down.”

“Why don’t we just stop for the night?”

“Because the moon is almost full, so we should have at least some light, and I just... I can’t stop. Too dangerous.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“A lot of things, Scott,” Stiles snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He was tired, and hungry, and he had no idea what direction they were headed, and the sun was down. It was down and they were in a forest, hours from Scott’s village. “Okay, okay. We can stop for the night. Let’s eat something, then... I’ll take first watch and let you sleep.”

“Watches?” Scott asked, his eyes wide as they moved away from the stream. Stiles sat down, shrugging off his pack and emptying it. He hadn’t even seen what Scott grabbed to bring with them. Stiles could see his breath in the air, surprised that he didn’t feel the cold. He knew it was because they had been moving for hours, but he also knew that he had been sweating. If they didn’t wrap up, they would freeze. Stiles pulled on a sweater that had been stuffed into his pack, adjusting his hat and scarf once it was over his head.There were extra socks, a waterskin, and food. In Scott’s he had another sweater, another smaller knife, and flint as well as more food. Stiles thought Scott did rather well considering he only gave him a few minutes to pack. 

Stiles went back to the stream and filled the waterskin, sharing it with Scott. They drank the whole thing between the two of them. He refilled it then they ate a portion of the food, enough to stop their stomachs from rumbling. Stiles put the extra socks on his hands, makeshift mittens, as Scott readied himself for bed, using their packs as a pillow. Stiles gnawed at his bottom lip, relieved when Adara sat in his lap. He shook with adrenaline, unable to stop as he looked around the forest, up at the sky. 

He hoped he wouldn’t regret bringing Scott along. He didn’t want Scott’s life in his hands, he didn’t want to be the reason that his best friend threw his life away. 

“Stiles?” Scott asked. 

“Hmm?” 

“About the Alethiometer...”

“Oh,” Stiles whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his sock covered hand. “Well, you saw the red markings on my skin?” 

“Yeah,” Scott answered, his voice hushed. 

“I, um, am the Alethiometer. I mean, people are looking for me.”

“The Magisterium?” Scott asked. Stiles nodded, despite the fact that Scott probably couldn’t see much of him. The Magisterium was a powerful branch of the government, obsessed with both knowledge and the repression of it. The Magisterium had been the cause of his mother’s death, and wanted him for themselves. Stiles couldn’t let that happen, because he belonged to no one. “But why? And what is the Aleth... what are you?” 

“I’m a person,” Stiles mumbled, his brow drawn tight. “I’m me, you know me.” 

“Then why do they want you?” 

“Because of my markings,” Stiles answered truthfully. “Because I have the same curse my mother did.” 

“What is it, though?” That was just it, wasn’t it? Stiles wasn’t exactly sure. He knew what the markings were called, he knew they would stop at nothing until they got him, but in all actuality, Stiles just... didn’t know. His father wouldn’t tell him, if he even knew, and his mother only referred to it as her curse. 

Stiles knew the markings on his back well, for when he first got them he spent hours in the mirror, looking, drawing them. His father burned the drawings upon seeing them, urging Stiles to never draw them again. Stiles took his father’s and mother’s words to heart. 

He never drew them again, he didn’t even like looking at them, and he referred to the markings as his curse. The curse that killed his mother. But the markings remained ingrained in his memory, as did the pain as they snaked up his arms and down his back as he laid in the pool of his mother’s blood. 

Stiles shook his head, ridding himself of the past. 

“It is my burden,” Stiles said as calmly as he could muster. His voice shook slightly as he looked down at Scott. “And I’m not so sure we can make it on our own.” Scott was silent after that, either lost in his own thoughts or he had managed to fall asleep. Stiles’ body was exhausted, his muscles aching from the day’s walk. 

When Stiles was no longer able to keep his eyes open, he woke Scott up for his watch. He handed Scott the sock mittens as they traded places. Stiles pulled Adara close to him, burying his face in her fur for warmth. 

Stiles woke up as he was being hauled to his feet, a hand on his collar and another in his hair, his hat tossed to the ground. Stiles grit his teeth, holding onto the assailant's wrist, his nails digging into their skin. 

“Check their packs,” a graveling voice boomed. Stiles looked around in a panic until he saw Adara in the bushes, feet away from him. 

“This one’s daemon is missing,” the man holding him rumbled. “You some sort of changeling?” Stiles was shaken violently. He shook his head, twisting his body, trying to get away. “Stop struggling or your friend dies.” Stiles stilled immediately, his eyes falling to Scott who was on his knees, hands tied. Kamilai was in a bag that one of the men, thieves, were holding. By the look on Scott’s face, Stiles could tell they had done something to him, kicked or punched him. His face was reddening rapidly, a bruise already forming. “We don’t believe you.”

“Tie him up,” the man looking through their packs said. He had Scott’s bag of gold in his hand. Stiles fought all the way to the ground, where his face was shoved into the dirt, his hands tied tight behind him. “They have nothing of worth.” 

Stiles remained silent, hoping that they would leave them in peace. 

“If this one is a changeling-”

“He isn’t. If he was, he would have turned by now to save himself.” Stiles and Scott exchanged glances as Kamilai was dropped to the ground. Scott winced, but nothing more. “Take the food.”

“No!” Stiles shouted without meaning to. They needed the food, they would starve without it. His uproar earned him a swift kick to the stomach. He practically shook with anger as his face was pressed once more into the dirt, making him breathe some in. Stiles coughed, spitting as much out of his mouth as he could. 

“This one is asking for his throat to be slit,” the man standing over Stiles smiled, gripping onto Stiles’ face, forcing him to roll over onto his back. He had a knife in his hand, twirling it like he was contemplating using it. 

The same man screamed when Adara bit his leg, then crouched in front of Stiles as if she could protect him from the thieves. Her teeth were bared, ready to attack again when an arrow pierced the mugger in the shoulder. 

“Again!” A voice called out. Another arrow hit him, this time in the stomach. Within seconds, he was on the ground, beside Stiles. 

Mayhem broke out, the other thieves running for it. They didn’t get far, though, because out through the brush stepped a man armed with a crossbow, and a girl. She couldn’t be much older than Stiles and Scott, if not the same age. She, too, had a crossbow. 

“Check them,” the man told the girl as he went after the two assailants that ran. 

“Are you alright?” She asked Scott first, setting aside her crossbow in order to take out a knife, cutting Scott’s ties. Scott nodded, rubbing his wrists as he sat up. 

“Yeah, they just... took our stuff.” The girl cut Stiles free as well, then stood up, grabbing hold of her crossbow once more. Stiles dusted himself off as he stood, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. He noticed the girl look at his arm as he bared his wrist. Her eyes darted away from him as he put his thumbs through the holes, making sure his shirtsleeves didn’t hike up again. 

She helped them pick up their things. 

“I’m Allison, by the way,” she smiled genuinely. 

“Scott, and this is Stiles-”

“Thanks for freeing us, but we really need to get going,” Stiles said, looking at the sky. It was light out, and they were losing time. Allison frowned at Stiles. 

“My dad will be right back, you lost most of your supplies, we have-”

“No, thank you,” Stiles interrupted. 

“Stiles...” Scott trailed off, his shoulders sagging. “We need food.” Stiles bit his lip, looking Allison up and down. 

“My mother is making stew, it’s been cooking all night.” 

Scott’s stomach rumbled, which made Allison laugh as her father showed back up. 

“Dad, this is Scott and Stiles, Scott and Stiles? This is my dad.”

“Chris Argent,” the man said, sticking out his hand for both of them to shake. Stiles shook his hand last, pulling away as quickly as possible because of how Chris was looking at his hands, at his arms. “Luckily, we live nearby, heard the commotion.” 

Reluctantly, Stiles followed Chris and Allison to their house, a small cabin just through the trees, not far from where they had slept for the night. 

“Where are you boys headed?” Chris asked as they entered the house. Scott and Stiles shrugged. 

“We, uh, came from Beacon Hills.” 

“You’re quite a ways away from home,” Chris said to Scott, clapping him on the back. “You heading back that way?”

“No,” Stiles whispered, looking at Chris’ daemon, a hawk, as it stared him down. “We aren’t heading back that way.” Stiles wanted to stay as vague as possible. He didn’t know these people, and they had crossbows, and they most definitely knew how to use them. 

“Well,” Mrs. Argent said, clasping her hands together. “I made stew, the least you can do is eat up before you head off, maybe clean up a bit?” Scott was all smiles, ever the charmer, as they sat down. Stiles had two bowls full, before his stomach refused to let him have any more. 

Scott took her up on her offer to clean up, not being used to dirt and sweat and travel. Stiles, though, refused. He would have to take his shirt off in order to do that and there was no way that was happening. 

“Would you like for me to wash that for you dear?” She asked, pointing at Stiles’ dirtied sweater and shirt. Stiles shook his head, picking at his nails. He felt antsy, and worried, and he didn’t want to be there anymore. “I’m sure Chris has something you can wear, it’s a warm day out, it won’t take long for your things to dry.” Stiles bit his lip. 

“Mom, he said no,” Allison called out, the smile seemingly never leaving her face. “Leave him alone, he was just mugged.” 

“Oh, alright.”

“He probably doesn’t want anyone touching his things, right?” Allison asked as she joined Stiles on the bench he was sitting on. Stiles nodded. “Not much of a talker, huh?” 

“Oh, he talks,” Scott laughed as he walked in wearing one of Chris’ extra shirts. Stiles supposed that Scott took Mrs. Argent up on her offer. Stiles looked around at the house. It wasn’t very lived in, didn’t have many possessions. It didn’t feel like a home. It put Stiles on edge. His leg was bouncing, which caught the attention of Mrs. Argent. 

“So, tell us about yourself, Stiles.” Stiles pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly. 

“Not much to tell, really. We’re on a journey, Scott and I,” Stiles motioned between he and Scott, then scratched his head, his fingers reaching beneath his beanie. “Uh, we got mugged.”

“Where are your parents?” She asked, innocently enough. Allison looked interested as well, which Stiles supposed was normal. He just wasn’t the sharing type. 

“My mom is back home, my dad left when I was younger,” Scott supplied easily enough. Stiles wished he could sound that carefree about that sort of information. He needed to, though, if they were to get away without the Argent’s getting suspicious. Stiles cleared his throat before he talked. 

“My mom died when I was little, around eleven,” Stiles admitted, his teeth catching on his bottom lip. “My dad is a sheriff, does a lot of patrols, so. We’re just-”

“You two are just wandering around?” Chris asked as he entered. He had a look on his face that let Stiles know he wasn’t about to believe anything he was going to say, so Stiles shut his mouth. Stiles looked to Scott, wishing they could speak to each other with their minds. It would be really helpful about now. Adara was by Stiles’ feet, her tail curled around his ankle lazily. Stiles put his hand on her head, getting her attention without bringing it to Chris’. 

“Yeah,” Scott said, shrugging like it was no big deal when in actuality it was. They were hours, by automobile, away from Beacon Hills. Days away if they had walked. Stiles only hoped that-

“When did you guys leave?” Chris asked. 

“Yesterday,” Scott answered before Stiles even opened his mouth to lie. Chris was smirking, looking from Stiles to Scott. Scott didn’t seem to see the problem here. Stiles flinched, gritting his teeth as Chris clapped his hands together once. 

“So the truck was yours? The Magisterium vehicle left by the side of the road, abandoned.” Scott’s eyes widened, looking to Stiles for help. Stiles sighed. “There is no other way that you two could have gotten that far from Beacon Hills in one day.” 

“What are you two doing with a Magisterium vehicle?” Mrs. Argent asked, her voice raising. She looked to Stiles. “You,” she hissed, pointing at him. Stiles looked up at her, his back straightening. “Show us your arms.” 

“No,” Stiles said simply, shaking his head. 

“Show it,” Mrs. Argent said again, this time with a forced smile that was more terrifying than anything else. “Or Scott will pay.” Stiles knew she was going to say something along those lines, really, he did. Because Chris had Scott in a head hold, his hand holding Scott’s neck like he could snap it in a second. Stiles stood up, looking down at Adara. 

“Don’t do it, Stiles,” Adara hissed. Stiles unhooked his thumbs from the holes in his sleeves. 

“How did you even think to know-”

“Allison saw the red ink,” Chris supplied, tilting his head so he could see Stiles better from where he was standing. Stiles looked to Allison, not at all surprised to see that she had her crossbow aimed at him. Stiles began rolling up one of his sleeves. As soon as he showed his arm, Mrs. Argent came forward, grabbing hold of him. Stiles jerked his arm, but her grip on him was tight. 

“Who are you people?” Stiles asked, looking down at his thigh holster. The knife was just within reach of his free hand. Mrs. Argent was looking at his markings, a nail tracing over the symbols. 

“And these go all the way up?” She asked, ignoring his question. Stiles struggled, continually yanking at her arm. “Hold still or he’ll snap his neck,” she spat. Stiles stilled, of course. “Take off your shirt, Alethiometer.” Stiles’ back stiffened. They even knew what he was, whoever they were. 

“I have a name, you know,” Stiles bit, pulling at his arm, hard. Mrs. Argent let go of him. “I’m not some object to be-”

“Off. With. Your. Shirt.” Chris said, lifting Scott off the ground by his neck. Stiles scrambled, pulling at his hat and scarf, then at his shirt. His heart was beating fast. He couldn’t let them kill Scott because he was being a little shit. That was no reason for Scott to die. 

As soon as he dropped his shirt to the ground, Mrs. Argent’s hands were on his back, twirling him around so that she could see him fully. Stiles felt completely bare, naked, exposed. He crossed his arms over his chest, chin pointed down. He was shaking, because they knew what he was, who he was. 

He had been found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys should check out this AMAZING [fan art](http://kaiyarrr.tumblr.com/post/38622947171/this-was-suppose-to-be-a-doodle-but-i-think-im-in) that Kaiya did of Stiles and Adara! Absolutely stunning. 
> 
> You guys are lovely. Happy Holidays!


	4. Chapter 4

“Beautiful,” Mrs. Argent whispered as her nail scraped across Stiles’ back, outlining the symbols. Stiles shut his eyes, a chill running down his spine as she touched certain ones. “I cannot wait for Gerard to get his hands on you.” Stiles clenched his jaw, but said nothing. He didn’t want anyone to get their hands on him, but that point was moot, now. They already had him. He barely lasted a day on his own. 

“Test him,” Chris said, walking towards them, bringing Scott with him. 

“I’m no Alethiometrist, Chris,” she said, shaking her head. Stiles drew his brow together, his lips pursed. “I can’t just-” 

Chris made Scott sit down on the bench, nodding his head towards Allison, calling her over. 

“Watch him,” he ordered. Allison pointed her crossbow at Scott while Stiles glared daggers at her. Stiles grimaced as Chris grabbed hold of him, pulling him outside. It was cold out and Stiles was immediately covered in goosebumps. Adara pounced at Chris, which Stiles wished she hadn’t done, because Chris’ daemon pinned her to the ground with its talons. Stiles trembled at the sudden burst of unease, at the contact made. Chris pushed Stiles against the side of the house so that his back was to the sun, so that he could see. 

Stiles had his palms pressed against the house, his cheek bruised as it scraped against the rough wood. 

“Do you know how to read it?” Chris asked. Stiles shook his head. 

“No.” 

Stiles felt Chris’ blunt, harsh fingers gliding over the symbols. The ones that mattered, Stiles knew, were on his back. There were thirty six of them that made the outline of a circle at the center of his back: an Hourglass, the Sun, the Alpha and the Omega, a Marionette, a Serpent, a Cauldron, an Anchor, an Angel, a Helmet, a Beehive, the Moon, the Madonna with Child, an Apple, a Bird, a Loaf of Bread, an Ant, a Bull Head, a Candle, a Horn of Plenty, a Chameleon, a Thunderbolt, a Dolphin, a Walled Garden, a Globe, a Sword, a Griffin, a Horse, a Camel, an Elephant, a Crocodile, a Baby, a Geometrical Compass, a Lute, a Tree, a Bestial Man, and an Owl. 

Stiles used to spend hours staring at them, holding a hand mirror as he faced a standing one, trying to figure out why his back was covered in these particular symbols, and why, to him, they looked like a clock. Surrounding the circle of symbols were inscriptions in a language he couldn’t read. The markings on his arms were a mixture of the same inscriptions weaved into the very same symbols on his back, but more stylized. His favorites were that of the ones on his inner wrists, the symbols for the Alpha and the Omega. That, he knew the meaning of. The beginning and the end. 

He felt Chris jab at the symbols, cursing under his breath. 

“How does it work?” He asked himself. “It has to be by touch. Doesn’t matter, we’re taking you out to the Magisterium. They have Alethiometrists that can get the answers.” 

“Answers?” Stiles asked. Chris didn’t answer him. Instead, he flung Stiles back towards the house, tossing Stiles his shirt once they were back inside. Stiles couldn’t hold back a dry sob as he pulled his shirt over his head. All he could think about was his father, how he would come back to the village to find their house burnt down and no sign of him. He thought about how Scott might die, how they could both die without anyone knowing where they went. 

Chris put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, urging him to sit down next to Scott. Stiles did so without a fight as he put his hat on, then his scarf. He felt violated, being forced to show Chris his back, his body. It made him feel dirty, used. He didn’t want to think what it would be like once he was handed over to the Magisterium. What would they do to him, then? 

“We need to pack up, leave as soon as possible, Victoria,” Chris said to his wife. Victoria nodded her head in agreement. Chris looked to Allison, pointing a finger at both Scott and Stiles. “You watch them.” 

Allison took a wide stance, her finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. 

“Got it.” 

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. Chris’ hawk had let go of Adara, who sat behind Stiles’ leg, hiding. Stiles looked to the door, which was wide open. He only had one thought on his mind: running. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Allison said, her voice hushed. Stiles glanced at her, scowling. The Argents hadn’t even disarmed him. Both he and Scott still had their knives, but you didn’t bring a knife to a crossbow party. All she had to do was pull the trigger and one of them would go down. 

Stiles knew, though, that the longer he stayed put, the less of a chance he would get to escape. If they so much as tied him up, it would be next to impossible to get away. He needed to try. If they killed him, there would be no more Alethiometer, or so he thought. 

Stiles grabbed hold of Scott’s hand, squeezing it lightly. Scott was looking at it, his mouth set in a frown. Stiles held his breath, then counted to three. He stood up, his free hand reaching for Scott’s knife, then threw it at Allison. Without looking, he ran for the door, pulling Scott with him. He heard a scream, Allison’s, as they bolted. He heard the crossbow being fired, but didn’t register anything else. Once they got out of the house, he let go of Scott’s hand so they could run faster. They disappeared into the woods, choosing to head straight into the densest part. It would be harder for them to be found in there. 

It would also be hardest to survive on their own as well. 

They had left their bags, the waterskin, the money that Chris had found. Everything. Stiles was glad that he had pulled both his linen shirt and sweater on, otherwise he would be screwed. 

They ran as far as they could before they stopped, resting against a tree. Stiles held onto his side, where he had a cramp. When he looked at Scott, his eyes widened. 

“Scott, you’re wearing a short sleeved shirt.”

“I’m alright,” Scott gasped, waving a hand around. 

“You’ll freeze,” Stiles whispered, pulling off his sweater, handing it to Scott. It was Scott’s in the first place, so he should have it. Scott pushed it away, shaking his head. 

“I’m okay for now.” Stiles breathed hard, not at all surprised that he could see his own breath in the air. 

“We need to keep moving.” 

They continued walking until they couldn’t go any further, exhaustion taking its toll. This time when Stiles offered the sweater, Scott took it. Stiles was on high alert, so he told Scott to sleep. They wouldn’t be able to move at all with the sun setting. He felt like someone was watching him, though he couldn’t see anything surrounding them.They had found a fallen tree, with its roots pulled up out of the ground that they took shelter near, so Stiles only had to look out ahead of him in order to keep watch. Adara was in his lap, his fingers in her fur to keep them warm. Kamilai was curled up underneath Scott’s sweater, already asleep. 

“What are we doing, Addie?” Stiles asked in a whisper. Adara looked up at him, pressing her nose against his chin affectionately. 

“Trying our best.” 

Stiles wasn’t so sure about that. 

As the sun rose, Stiles let out a breath of relief. He had let Scott sleep through the night, unable to sleep himself he didn’t want to deny Scott the rest. They set out in the same direction they had been headed the day before, east. Stiles was freezing, his body heat almost nonexistent with the thin shirt he was wearing. Stiles led the way, with Adara bounding out ahead of him like always. He kept stopping, though, because he kept hearing things surrounding them, or so he thought. Scott said he hadn’t heard a thing, though, so Stiles kept going on ahead. Stiles was worried, of course, that the Argents would turn up out of nowhere. 

“They don’t even know which way we ran, probably,” Scott assured him. “How would they even know?” 

“I’m not sure,” Stiles replied, his voice hushed. He still felt like he was being watched, but he assumed it was just how the forest worked. Who knew how many animals were surrounding them.

Stiles didn’t even hear the sound of the crossbow before it nicked his arm. He broke into a run, not allowing time for another shot. He could only hope that Scott was behind him. They just couldn’t catch a break, it seemed. Stiles was aware of two things: the throbbing pain in his arm and the fact that he couldn’t hear Scott running behind him. 

He chanced a glance, only to see Chris Argent on his tail, a crossbow in his hand as he ran. Stiles hoped that Chris would trip over something, but by now he knew that he didn’t have that sort of luck.

Because Stiles was the one to trip. He fell, hard, landing on his wrist. He cradled it, biting back a scream as Chris stood over him, panting for breath. 

“You thought we’d let you escape that easily?” Chris asked, reaching down and grabbing hold of Stiles’ shirt, gripping it tightly. “We aren’t done with you yet.” 

“You thought we wouldn’t run for it?” Stiles asked, spitting up into Chris’ face. Stiles couldn’t help but goad him, it was his defense mechanism when he was scared shitless. It earned him a punch in the face. Stiles reached for his knife, but Chris had quicker reflexes than he did. Chris hand his hand wrapped around Stiles’ throat, applying pressure to his windpipe. Stiles gasped for breath, his hands automatically reaching for Chris’s hand, trying to pry free. 

Chris hauled Stiles to his feet, not letting go of him. Three things happened in rapid succession that had Stiles running for his life once more. One, something big and black jumped out of nowhere, tackling both Chris and Stiles to the ground. Two, it bit Chris in the leg and dragged him away from Stiles. Three, it snapped its teeth at Stiles in order for him to get moving instead of sitting there staring at it. It was as if the animal had basically told him to run for his life. 

Stiles didn’t have time to think. He sprinted away from Chris, away from where Scott was, away from everything. He was okay, he realized. He saw Adara beside him and felt calmer. He made it another ten feet before he tumbled to the ground in pain, covering his head with his hands. The pressure he felt was intense, the panic he felt was palpable. He squinted his eyes, which were filled with tears, enough to see Chris’ hawk daemon with its claws in Adara, hefting her into the air. Stiles screamed as he scrambled to his feet despite the throbbing ache, the feel of his daemon in pain overtook him. He felt the pull of their distance in his gut, adding to the pain of the claws in her. 

Stiles blacked out seconds later. 

His head was pounding, and his body ached as he became conscious. He was lying face down on the forest floor, covered in dirt. His muscles screamed as he moved, shifting onto his back slowly. Stiles felt up and down his body, his chest heaving as he thought about Adara, about Scott. He was alive, but his daemon wasn’t near him. His stomach roiled as he tossed his head to the side throwing up bile, his body shaking. He just about jumped out of his skin when he heard rustling behind him. 

Stiles skidded across the ground, his palms pressing into the forest floor as he kicked his legs until his back hit a tree. Stiles cried out in semi-relief as the big, black wolf appeared in the small clearing with Adara in its mouth. Her eyes were closed, her body limp as the wolf carried her by her neck. Stiles got on all fours, crawling closer slowly as possible. When Stiles came face to face with the wolf, he saw that it had blue eyes, piercingly blue. Stiles gulped, his gaze falling to his daemon. Stiles knelt in front of the wolf, offering his hands. 

Stiles sobbed openly as he felt her breathe against him. Her chest was rising and falling in short, quick bursts. Stiles brought her body closer to his face, nuzzling her. 

“Addie, Addie, please be okay,” Stiles whispered, his tears getting on her fur. The wolf sat on its haunches in front of him, huffing softly, its head tilting as he looked down at Adara as if it were concerned. Stiles watched the wolf as he rocked back and forth, rubbing his nose against her fur. “Addie, please be okay,” Stiles said again. “We have to get away from them, they’ll kill us like they killed Scott.” 

The wolf whined, which surprised Stiles. It was like it knew exactly what he was saying. Stiles swallowed, trying to even out his breathing, trying not to panic. The pain subsided with Adara back in his arms. She didn’t have blood on her, which Stiles could only assume was a good sign. The wolf nudged Stiles’ arm, then made a movement towards Adara with its teeth bared. Stiles twisted his body so that Adara was out of the wolf’s grasp. 

“Hey, no, back off her,” Stiles urged, reaching out a hand, pushing at the wolf’s muzzle. If it were any other wolf, Stiles wouldn’t have done it, but it had saved him. It had attacked Chris, it brought him his daemon. Still, he didn’t trust it. He didn’t want to give it Adara. “Leave her alone, she’s hurt.” 

The wolf snorted, then licked the fox daemon. Stiles sat there for a second, his jaw hanging open. “Okay, what are you wanting to do with her?” Stiles asked. The wolf grabbed Adara by the scruff of her neck once more, then trotted away. Stiles immediately got up and walked after the wolf, checking their surroundings for the Argents. He didn’t see hide nor hair of them, so he followed the wolf. 

Stiles walked beside him, holding onto his arm where the arrow had grazed him earlier. His mind shot back to how he had left Scott for dead, and he ached for his best friend. It was his fault for dragging him into it in the first place. He should have refused to let Scott come when he came down the stairs with two packs. He shouldn’t have let him come along. 

Everything was his fault. 

With his injured arm, Stiles brushed his fingers against the fur of the wolf. He was soft, so Stiles raked his fingers through his fur lightly as they continued walking. He was thirsty, hungry, and cold but the wolf kept walking. Stiles was exhausted and half asleep by the time the wolf stopped. 

Stiles hadn’t even noticed that they had walked to a village or that night had fallen once more. His feet and legs ached from fatigue, his fingers gripping tight to the wolf’s fur as they came up to a door. The wolf pawed at it, scratching lightly. Stiles added to it with a weak knock. Stiles’ stomach lurched as he watched the wolf set Adara down on the ground, then walk away from them. Stiles bent over, scooping her up into his arms, then turn towards the wolf who was disappearing into the darkness. 

“Wait! Where are you going?” Stiles called out, his voice shaking as the door opened up. He turned his head to see a man, his skin dark and his smile welcoming, answer the door. Stiles turned his entire body around so that the man could see that he was carrying his daemon. 

“Oh, dear,” the man whispered, opening the door further. “Please come in.” Stiles took one last look towards the woods, no longer able to see the wolf. The man looked out the door as well, trying to see what Stiles was looking for. “Are you okay?” The man asked, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles jumped back, his eyes wide. The man saw the blood on Stiles’ arm, the gash where he was hit with the arrow. “I think I am going to need to look at that, and your daemon.” 

Stiles took in a sharp breath as he nodded once, his eyes brimming with tears. He was overwhelmed, scared. “I’m Deaton, Alan Deaton.” 

“Stiles,” he answered, his voice catching in his throat. 

“This is Syrilla,” Deaton said, introducing Stiles to his daemon, a Jack Russell Terrier at his feet. Stiles nodded once, then licked his lips, his eyes falling to Adara. 

“This is Adara,” he whispered, unable to stop a tear from falling. “She hasn’t woken up in a while.” 

“Let’s get you two inside, alright?” Stiles nodded, following Alan into his home. Stiles took one last look at the woods before the door shut. He felt so alone, now. 

The home wasn’t really a home at all, as it turned out. It was more like an apothecary, with a large fireplace and a table in the middle of it, with medicines lining the wall. Stiles looked around as he slowly walked into the room. 

“Set her down on the table would you?” Alan asked. Stiles did just that, as gently as he possibly could. “I’m going to clean your cut first, if that’s okay?” Stiles nodded. “Can you take your shirt off for me?” 

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head, closing his eyes. “I can’t.” Alan gave him an odd look, with an eyebrow raised. 

“I’m going to need to-”

“Then don’t fix it. Fix Addie instead,” Stiles begged. He was holding his arm again, his fingers bloodied, dirty already with dried, cracked blood. Deaton looked at Stiles incredulously. 

“You are filthy, do you want it to become infected?” 

Stiles shook his head no. 

“How did you find me?” Deaton asked, changing the subject. 

“A wolf brought me here,” Stiles admitted as he sighed, his body relaxing. He was sitting by the fire. It warmed his bones as he rubbed his hands near it. He could barely feel the tips of his fingers. Deaton only nodded, humming to himself as he looked Stiles up and down. 

“Are you in danger?” He asked. Stiles looked up at him, his mouth hanging open. Apparently that was enough of an answer for Alan. “Stiles, I don’t know anything about you except for the fact that you showed up after dark, covered in dirt, no coat or jacket, and your daemon is unconscious.” 

Stiles was breathing quickly, shallowly. He flinched when Deaton’s hand gripped his shoulder reassuringly, kneeling down in front of Stiles. “Obviously you’ve been through some sort of trauma. I know you have no reason to trust me, Stiles, but you’re safe here.” 

Stiles shook his head, bringing a hand up to his face, turning away from Alan. He knew nothing of this man, nothing. 

“Where am I?” Stiles asked, his voice quavering. 

“Sanderson,” Deaton answered. Stiles had heard of it, knew that his father sometimes traveled this far in his patrols. 

“Do you know, do you know... who Sheriff Stilinski is?” Stiles asked. Deaton’s eyes told Stiles that he did. For a second, Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. 

“I do... yes. How do you know him?” Stiles bit his lip, not sure if he wanted to tell him. “He is due into town in a few days time, actually.” Stiles deflated immediately, unable to hide his ease. 

“I’m his son,” Stiles whispered, grabbing at the edge of his shirt, readying to pull it over his head. Deaton watched him as he discarded the shirt, his eyes widening when Stiles was finished. 

“Oh, shit,” Deaton muttered under his breath, looking at Stiles like he knew exactly what Stiles was. Stiles regretted it immediately. He moved to put his shirt back on, but Deaton stopped him. 

“Don’t, sorry for staring, but I never... thought that I would meet you.” 

“Are you going to turn me in to the Magisterium?” Stiles asked, backing himself into a corner. 

“No, oh no. Never. You? You must be protected. Especially from them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to point out that Stiles did **not** see what happened to Scott. That is all. 
> 
> Thank you SO so much for all your lovely comments so far :)   
> You all are amazing.


	5. Chapter 5

“Let’s get you cleaned up, then find you something to wear,” Alan said, taking a cautionary step towards Stiles. “Maybe something to eat afterwards?” Stiles couldn’t say no to that, the last thing he had to eat was the stew the Argents fed him. 

Stiles thought of Scott, then. About Chris holding tight to his throat, using him to get Stiles to do as he wished. Stiles felt bile rising in his throat. He closed his eyes, clasping a hand over his own mouth as his body lurched forward. He ran for the door, making it outside just in time to throw up on the ground. The mere thought of the Argents killing Scott made him unbearably sick, his hand shaking as he wiped his mouth. 

He thought that he was fine, until he thought about Scott being alive, perhaps, and captured by the Argents. He emptied out his entire stomach, bent over with his hands on his knees, eyes closed, gasping for breath. 

He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to do this alone. 

Deaton appeared with a warm, wet cloth. He handed it to Stiles, letting him wipe himself off. Stiles walked back into the house, taking a seat by the fire, on a stool. He didn’t say anything as Deaton cleaned his wound, then gave it stitches. Apparently the arrow had nicked him deeper than he originally thought. 

When Deaton was done, Stiles watched him walk over to the table and look down at Adara. Stiles bit his lip, clasping his hands together in his lap. 

“I’m going to have to touch her,” Deaton said, his gaze meeting Stiles’, as if he was asking permission. Stiles sucked in a breath, holding it in as he nodded once. The violation of another human being touching his daemon made his entire body break out in goosebumps. He felt vulnerable, uneasy. He had a sinking feeling in his gut, along with feeling lightheaded. Stiles shuddered as he leaned forward, putting his head down between his legs to keep from getting sick again. His limbs felt tingly, his body reacting as if he was rejecting Deaton’s touch. 

Stiles ended up on the ground, his head buried in the crook of his arm, breathing slowly. 

“She’s exhausted,” Alan’s voice broke out, bringing Stiles out of his stupor. “Were you two in a fight?” 

“Yes,” Stiles admitted, forcing himself off the ground. He stood slowly, shaking his head. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest as he watched Deaton’s hands cup Adara’s face. A shiver went down his spine. It felt too personal, too much like someone was caressing him, touching him. Stiles crossed his arms defensively, wishing Deaton would let go of her. 

Finally, he did. Stiles visibly slackened, his shoulders sinking slightly as Deaton rummaged through vials and stoppers full of ingredients. Stiles didn’t ask questions, just watched him move around the table. When he turned around, he had a small vial with what looked like salt in it. He ran the vial underneath Adara’s nose a few times. 

Within seconds she stirred. Stiles just about jumped out of his skin, his eyes widening as he skidded around the table, his arms flailing. 

“Addie! Oh my god, Addie,” Stiles gasped, cupping her small face with one of his hands, his long fingers wrapping around her muzzle. She blinked up at him weakly, then tried to get up. “No, Addie. Stay down-”

“Kami-” Addie brought up. Stiles’ gut clenched. 

“Kami and Scott are gone,” Stiles whispered, his voice dripping with emotion. “The Argents...”

“Argent?” Deaton asked, eyebrows raised. “The Argents are after you?” Stiles nodded as Deaton walked towards the door, locking it. “We can’t have that, no.” 

“Who are they?” Stiles asked. 

“Depends on which Argents you ran into.” Stiles was looking down at Adara, a hand stroking her fur lightly. She rolled onto her back so that he would pet her belly, which made Stiles smile. 

“Chris, Victoria, Allison,” Stiles listed off their names, each catching in his throat. Each name brought back flashes of memory. Victoria touching his back, Allison’s bow aimed at Scott, Chris’ hands around his neck. “Addie, how are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Adara answered, nipping at Stiles’ fingers playfully. 

“You two both need to eat and rest,” Alan said, sighing out his frustrations. “Your father will be here in a few days, he always comes around this time each month.” Stiles nodded. 

All he had to do was wait for him, then he wouldn’t be alone. 

Deaton fed them broth, because apparently Adara was weak from all the running and being thrown around like a potato sack, and Stiles needed it because he was dehydrated from emptying his stomach. Stiles didn’t mind it in the slightest. It settled his stomach as he ate it with bread, sopping it all up. It made him tired afterwards. He was exhausted from not sleeping the night before, letting Scott sleep instead. Stiles bit back more tears, breathing in and out slowly as he forced memories of earlier that day out of his head. 

Deaton set up a mat near the fire, because Stiles was still cold. He gave Stiles a clean long sleeved shirt, and a plain grey sweater. Adara curled herself up on Stiles’ chest, burying her face in his arms as he pulled her close. His body still tingled from Deaton’s touch on her, but he tried to ignore it. 

He knew that when someone else touched a daemon it was intimate, that his parents used to touch each other’s daemons all the time and it was like an extension of their affection for each other. It all seemed so personal, like Deaton wasn’t meant to touch Adara, because he wasn’t. He needed to, though, and that was that. 

Stiles pulled her closer, running his lips over the top of her head absentmindedly. He drifted off to sleep with her in his arms. At least he still had her. 

 

He awoke to the sound of voices. It took him a moment to realize that it was two people whispering, trying not to wake him, so Stiles remained still, keeping his eyes closed. He didn’t feel Adara against him, his hands moving around the mat blindly. 

“He isn’t safe here,” an unfamiliar voice said harshly. “You keeping him here will put him in even more danger, if anyone sees him-”

“His father is on his way, he will know what to do with him,” Deaton said, exasperated. 

“We don’t have time, Alan-” the unknown voice cut short as Stiles sat up, looking around for Adara, his worry for her outweighed his interest in the conversation. Stiles found Adara sitting next to... the wolf? Stiles looked from Deaton, to Adara, then to the wolf. Stiles stood up, looking around for the second person. 

“Where is the other guy?” Stiles asked. “And you,” he said, pointing to the wolf, “you... what are you doing here?” 

“Wolves can’t talk, Stiles,” Deaton mused, his hands on the table. Stiles scratched his head. “There wasn’t anyone here.” Stiles grit his teeth. He heard Deaton talking with someone, a male. He glared at the wolf. 

“The wolf talked.”

“No, it didn’t.” Stiles looked to Adara. 

“Addie-”

“The wolf didn’t talk,” Adara said, walking over to him. The wolf snorted. 

“So then who were you talking with? About me? I heard you talking about me and my dad with someone,” Stiles looked around, refusing to back down about this. “It sounded like someone who was standing, I swear-”

“Stiles, you’ve been through a lot,” Deaton said, his hands reaching for Stiles’ shoulders. “And you’re still recovering from everything, I suggest you rest.” 

“I think... I’m going to go for a walk,” Stiles said, backing away from Deaton. 

“I don’t know if that is wise-”

“I’ve got my knife,” Stiles called over his shoulder as he left the house, Adara following him, moving a bit slower than normal. “Why would you lie to me?” Stiles asked her once they were out of earshot of the house. 

It was a bright, sunny day outside, the sun’s warmth spreading over him as he walked. With the sweater on he felt toasty, comfortable. The village was small, with a market and a fountain in the common square. Stiles sat on the small stone wall, looking at the flowing water. 

“I didn’t lie, the wolf didn’t talk.” 

“Someone was in there with Deaton, though.” 

“Yes,” Adara said, joining him on the stone wall. “Someone was in there, but they left.” 

“I didn’t hear the door and besides,” Stiles pointed out as he nitpicked at his pants, messing with a seam, “how did the wolf get in? Does Deaton know the wolf? How come it knows exactly what I am saying?” 

Adara looked at the fountain. 

“Addie...” 

Adara looked up at him, her eyes narrow, silent. Stiles made a face at her. She showed him her teeth. 

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“Maybe,” Adara alluded, trotting around the fountain, her tail swishing playfully. Stiles practically growled at her as he stood up. He looked around the marketplace, deciding to take a closer look at some of the carts even though he had no money. There was nothing wrong in looking, after all. Adara, of course, followed him. 

They walked through the village, taking their time before they circled back to Deaton’s. When they arrived back, the wolf was waiting by the door. Adara surprised Stiles by walking over to it, sitting next to it. Stiles’ lips pursed, his brow furrowed as he crossed his arms and tilted his head. 

“Alright, wolf,” Stiles huffed. “You saved her, so.... thanks.” The wolf looked down at Adara, then back up at Stiles, silent. “I know you can talk, you know.” 

The wolf only stared at him. 

Deaton walked out, a look of relief washing over his face. 

“I was getting worried.” 

“We’re fine,” Stiles chirped, giving him a half smile. “Just needed some air.” 

“We don’t know if the Argents will come looking for you here or not,” Deaton supplied, looking to the wolf. Stiles turned his attention there, too, gauging his reaction. “I think it would be best if you stuck nearer to here.” 

“Alright,” Stiles promised. “I can stay close by. Do you need anything done?” 

“Like what?” asked Deaton. Stiles shrugged. 

“Well, I don’t keep still very well. I can do repairs? Anything.” 

“You can chop wood for me, I can always use more for the winter.” Stiles nodded, walking around to the back of the house where there was a stump set up with an axe. Stiles pulled off the sweater, tossing it to the side, but kept on the long sleeved shirt, like always. He looked to where Adara sat down. The wolf was with her, its head tilted, observing him. 

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Stiles asked in mock anger as he took hold of the axe. The wolf, of course, said nothing in return. 

Stiles chopped wood for about an hour. It was a good distraction, really. It let him clear his mind about Scott, about his father, about the fact that people were after him. How they were zoning in on him, about how they had actually had him and how he had escaped. Escaped without his best friend. 

Stiles dropped the axe, leaning it against the wall of the house then sat down between Adara and the wolf. He draped his arm over the wolf, then sighed. 

“So are you staying?” Stiles asked it. “I mean, you left in a hurry last night.” The wolf sniffed at Stiles’ hair, pushing his beanie back. Grinning, Stiles shoved the wolf’s face away from his. “Or did you leave at all? Maybe you... patrolled around the house?” That got him a lick on the cheek. Stiles made a face, then rubbed it away with his shirt sleeve. “A protector, huh?” 

Stiles was silent after that, wiping away at the sweat that had gathered around his brow. His face fell when he thought about Adara, how the wolf had carried her to him. 

“Let’s hope you’re good at your job, yeah?” He mumbled, his fingers running through the wolf’s fur once before getting up and heading inside for some water. 

Stiles spent the afternoon and evening inside, looking over Deaton’s books and ingredients. He helped chop vegetables for dinner and even did the dishes. Afterwards, though, Stiles began to feel jittery. 

“So, you know what I am, right?” Stiles asked, gnawing on his bottom lip. Deaton looked up from the book he was reading and nodded solemnly. 

“I do,” he answered in a sigh. Stiles made a hand motion, basically asking for Deaton to spill the beans. “Do you not?” Stiles shook his head. 

“No, not really?” He offered, shrugging from where he sat in front of the fire. Adara lay on her back, her belly facing it, her eyes closed. She was napping, it seemed. Stiles pulled a knee up so he could rest his chin against it, hugging it close to his body. “I mean, I know... there has to be a reason why people are after me. And I know it has to do with my markings.” 

“Yes,” Deaton admitted, his eyes casting a glance at a pack in the corner of the room. Stiles looked closer, seeing that it had a bedroll attached, and that it was twice the size of what Scott’s had been. “You know what you are called, correct?” Stiles nodded. “The Alethiometer. There used to be six, from six lines of families. There used to be twice as many Alethiometrists as well,” Stiles gave Deaton a confused look, to which Deaton smiled, “they can read the Alethiometer. They study the signs, the ones that are on your back, for years.” 

“So the markings mean something?” Stiles asked, tilting his head. 

“Oh, yes. I have a question for you, have they ever glowed?” 

Stiles shook his head, his eyes widening at the thought. 

“No, not since the day my mother died. The day the markings moved from her to me.” Deaton looked disappointed, but he continued on. 

“I’m sure, since it looks like you’ve been in hiding, that you have never come across an Alethiometrist, otherwise, I’m sure they would have made them glow.”

“Why would they glow?” Stiles asked, hugging himself tighter. He didn’t like the sound of something on his body glowing. 

“What an Alethiometer does, in a pure sense, is speak the truth.” Stiles made a face, because he lied all the time. “Well, you don’t, necessarily, but the symbols on your back do.” 

“Ah, you lost me already,” Stiles laughed, because it sounded ridiculous. “Are you a, uh, Alethiometrist?” Stiles asked. 

“Me? Oh, no. I have studied a bit, but I am no expert.”

“Do you think you can show me what you mean?” Stiles asked, because if he was being completely honest with himself, which he liked to think he was, then of everyone he has met so far, he trusted Deaton the most. 

“You’ll allow me to try?” Deaton asked with raised eyebrows, completely surprised. Stiles nodded, swallowing. He moved to stand, stripping down to his pants, folding the sweater and linen shirt neatly, putting them on the table. “Well, it all starts with a question. It can be anything about the past or the present, but it doesn’t foretell the future.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said, expelling a deep breath. 

“Each of the symbols on your back mean different things, all have more than one meaning, actually,” Deaton said as he walked over to his bookshelf, pulling out an old leather bound one that looked well used. Stiles watched him as he approached. “Take, for instance, the hourglass: It means time, death, and change. The marionette: obedience, submission, and grace. When asking a question,” Deatons hands were on Stiles’ back, which made a shiver go up his spine. “You keep it inside you, internally, thinking about it, and touch the symbols that most represent the question at hand.” Stiles didn’t say anything as Deaton went quiet, feeling his fingers press against his skin. Stiles felt a not too familiar burn, like someone was pouring something over his back, like hot wax from candles, in three spots. Stiles grit his teeth, twisting his neck, trying to see, in vain. He couldn’t see anything. It felt warm and cool all at once, though, wet and dry. Stiles’ fingernails dug into his own palms as he waited.

“And then, an answer should appear,” Deaton muttered, his voice sounding disappointed. “But-”

Stiles almost dropped to his knees in pain. It was as if the feeling from before came back tenfold. It felt as though it did the day his mother died. Stiles leaned forward, gripping tight to the table, tears gathering in his eyes. 

Deaton hastily grabbed for pen and paper, scribbling down whatever was happening on Stiles’ back. Stiles watched as tears fell from his face onto the table, counting the seconds that the pain lasted. 

When it finally stopped, Stiles’ knees gave out, his hands and elbows on the table being the only thing that kept him upright. Adara whimpered beside him, obviously worried. Stiles wiped at his eyes, laughing as he stood up, reaching for his shirt. 

“That is not something I want to go through again anytime soon.”

“I didn’t realize, I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay, how were we to know, really?” Stiles asked honestly. “I didn’t know it would hurt, you’ve never met someone like me. Did you get an answer?” Stiles asked. 

“Well, I got a reading,” Deaton started, looking down at the paper. Stiles saw that it read _Serpent_ with ten dashes next to it, then _Helmet_ with seven dashes, and finally _Bread_ with four dashes next to it. Stiles’ brow furrowed. “But it will take me some time to decipher.”

“What are the dashes for?” Stiles asked. 

“It means how many times it flashed and how many times it glowed.” 

“Huh,” Stiles said, scratching the back of his neck. “I can see, now, why my mother ran away from the Magisterium when she was young.” 

“Your mother used to-”

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered. “Uh, when she was little. She was theirs, but she got away? She said something about... well. My parents never really told me about her past, about her markings. They called it her curse. But it’s weird, because it was something I had forgotten until just now, but the other day in the forest someone mentioned a changeling-” Deaton fidgeted, which caught Stiles’ attention. “I think my mom was protected by one, whatever it is. I remember her telling me a story when I was young, but I thought it was just a story.” 

“They are very solitary creatures,” Deaton nodded, mostly paying attention to his book, which he had open to a page that had the serpent on it. “I’m sorry,” Deaton admitted, giving him a half smile. “I am no expert in reading an Alethiometer, this will probably take me hours.”

“Oh, that’s, yeah,” Stiles waved him off, going back to his spot by the fire. Adara immediately jumped into his lap, pawing at his sweater as if hugging him. “Addie,” he chastised. 

“He hurt you,” she said, looking over at Syrilla and Deaton. “He knew what it would do to you,” she whispered. Stiles knitted his brow together, shaking his head. 

“No, he didn’t. Neither of us knew what would happen.” 

“I don’t like that your back glowed.” 

“It hurt, I don’t want the Magisterium to get me. Do you know what would happen if they did?” Stiles asked her, his voice wavering. “I bet they would use me, like... like some sort of... “ Stiles trailed off, because it was worrisome. He didn’t want to think about how if he was caught that his life would be full of pain. 

His mother was right about it being a curse.


	6. Chapter 6

Dreams were not things that Stiles remembered by the time he opened his eyes. He could never recall what was on the outskirts of his mind seconds before, when he slept. He always felt like he was on the verge of knowing, of remembering, like it was on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach. 

Stiles was in a state where his dreams were just out of his grasp, where he was almost away, his mind fuzzy and body heavy when he heard a wolf howl. He felt Adara stir, her head lifting. He heard Deaton shuffle his feet, but Stiles wasn’t yet fully aware what was going on. 

Another howl and a jolt of his shoulder had Stiles bolting upright, his eyes wide. 

“They’re coming,” Deaton whispered, urging Stiles to his feet. “You have to go.”

“How do you know they’re coming?” Stiles mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he grabbed his shoes, shoving them on. 

“The howling,” Deaton said, holding out the pack that had been leaning against the wall the day before. “Put this on, hurry.”

“But my dad-”

“I will tell your father what has happened. I am sure he doesn’t even know you left Beacon Hills.” Stiles nodded, taking the pack from Deaton. “You’ll need a coat as well.” Deaton looked around, grabbing his off the hook. “This will have to do. I thought we would have more time-” 

Another howl. 

“Go south, Derek will find you.” 

“Derek?” Stiles asked, confusion spreading across his face. “Who is Derek?” 

“There’s no time,” Deaton hissed, pushing Stiles towards the door. “Head south, trust no one.”

“What about this Derek?” Stiles asked, his eyes wide. 

“Derek, I trust. It is up to you to decide if you will as well.” 

Stiles wanted to punch Deaton for being so damned cryptic as he was shoved out the door. It was just before dawn, and there was frost covering the ground. Stiles ran south, not looking back as he heard another howl in the distance. 

Stiles was on the opposite side of the small village when he heard a gunshot go off. Stiles stilled, twisting his head so he could look back across the small sleeping village. He could see his breath coming out in quick, short puffs, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest as birds took off from the trees in the distance due to the echoing sound. 

Stiles gulped, hoping that Deaton wasn’t dead. He rushed onwards, disappearing in the forest, staying off the main road. He had no idea who Derek was, or how he was supposed to find him. He didn’t have a destination, or even a last name. Stiles felt helpless, in over his head. 

“We should have gone with dad,” Stiles muttered to Adara. Adara said nothing as she walked out ahead of Stiles in the brush of the forest. Stiles kept looking behind him, double checking to make sure he wasn’t being followed. 

By the time he stopped to look what was in his pack, he had been walking for hours. He found a waterskin and sighed, grateful that Deaton had taken the liberty of filling it. Stiles fed some of it to Adara, and then himself. He rationed it, though, not knowing when he would come across a freshwater stream. 

Inside the pack he found a compass, another set of clothes, gloves, flint and steel, an ankle dagger, one single candle, gauze and a salve, the bedroll attached with a length of rope, and food rations. Stiles sat, staring at it for a long time. He grabbed the ankle dagger first, strapping it on, then broke out one of the food rations, splitting it with Adara. 

“He certainly was prepared,” Adara said, looking at all of the stuff that was spread across the ground. Stiles took his time repacking it, making sure everything could fit back in it properly. He wasn’t ready to move, though, so they sat, his back against a tree. “Maybe we should keep going.”

“Maybe I’m tired,” Stiles sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Adara rolled her eyes at him. “Maybe I just want to sit.” 

“What if they find us?” 

“The chances of them finding-”

Stiles almost jumped out of his skin when the wolf appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Stiles let out a short scream, covering his mouth. 

“Holy shit, you scared me.” Stiles shut his eyes for a moment, waiting for his heart rate to go back down. The wolf sat, then huffed out a sigh, almost like it was aggravated. “What?” Stiles asked, as if it would answer him. 

The wolf looked south, like it _knew_. 

“Oh, sure. Yeah, I’m not allowed to rest?” Stiles asked, getting up. The wolf gave him one more look, then started walking, leading the way. “How did you even find me?” Stiles asked, knowing that talking was moot. “It was you, wasn’t it? That was howling, you’re the wolf that alerted Deaton.” 

Silence. Stiles gave the wolf an unamused snort as he walked behind him. Adara walked beside the wolf, occasionally looking back at Stiles. Stiles found it odd that she chose to walk with the wolf instead of bounding ahead, or running circles around them. Stiles supposed she was tired, still, from being tossed around by that hawk. Stiles was wary about their pace, about every noise the forest made. 

About an hour before sundown, the wolf led Stiles to a cave. Stiles eyed it suspiciously, not really wanting to enter it. It was mostly dark already, because clouds had moved in, leaving a chill in the air. Stiles huffed, standing at the mouth of the cave with his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side out of exhaustion. 

“How do you even know that the cave is safe?” Stiles asked. The wolf walked in without so much as a sniff. Stiles looked around the forest floor, thinking about making a fire. “Do you think I could make a fire?” Stiles called out, cupping his hand over his mouth so it would project. 

He, of course, didn’t get an answer. Stiles looked to Adara who sat by his feet. 

“What do you think?” He asked her. 

“I think we’re going to freeze out here,” Adara said as she walked over to a stick and picked it up, then brought it into the cave. Stiles sighed, putting his pack down so that he would be able to pick up kindling easier. 

It took awhile for him to gather enough to last the night, then set it up properly. Luckily, the flint and steel made it easy to light the fire itself, especially since he had gathered some dry leaves as well. The wolf watched as Stiles rationed off a bit more food for him and Adara. Stiles offered some to the wolf, but he rejected the bread and jerky. Stiles didn’t have a problem eating the wolf’s share. Stiles rolled out the bed roll a good distance from the fire, but not too far that it would be cold. 

“What are the chances they will find us?” Stiles asked Adara, who curled up in his lap as he sat staring at the fire, the wolf sitting upright next to him, its paws on the bedroll. 

“I hope not very good,” Adara said, resting her head on Stiles’ knee. 

Eventually, the wolf laid down as Stiles added more wood to the fire. The sound of rain filled the cave, and Stiles was grateful that they had found shelter. Stiles noticed that the wolf had lain down right at the end of the bed roll, as if begging to be a pillow. Stiles bit his lip, making eye contact with it. 

“I’d be warmer if...” Stiles yawned. He was exhausted, and he knew the wolf wouldn’t talk back, so he shifted, laying down so that the wolf was curled around his upper body and head. He didn’t use him as a pillow, but rather as a heat trap. Adara crawled up closer to Stiles’ chest, burrowing in close. Stiles fell asleep between the two animals to the sound of the rain and the crackle of the fire. 

Stiles was vaguely aware of a few things in his hazy state between sleep and awake: the fire was crackling and warm like it had just been stoked, someone or something was rummaging through his pack, and Adara wasn’t within reach of him. 

Stiles opened his eyes, frowning as he saw that, yes, the fire was burning bright enough to indicate new wood had been added. Stiles sat up, looking around for Adara and the wolf. Instead, he got an eye full of abs and bare skin. Stiles scrambled, grabbing his knife from his thigh holster as he stood up. 

The stranger had taken the spare clothes from the pack and was putting them on. Stiles pointed the knife at him, his eyes finally landing on Adara. She was standing by the other man as if she knew him. Stiles’ brow drew down in confusion. 

“What are you doing in here?” Stiles asked. The man turned towards him, an eyebrow raised. Stiles took a step back. Stiles could hear the rain pouring outside of the cave, the wind howling. The draft was apparent as well, the cave was freezing cold outside a certain circumference. Stiles’ eyes darted around, looking for the stranger’s daemon. He didn’t see one. All he saw was Adara. Stiles gripped his knife tighter. “And where is your daemon?” 

“Don’t have one,” the stranger said nonchalantly. 

“Were you... did you have it cut from you-”

“No.” Stiles visibly relaxed momentarily. He had heard stories, mainly when he was younger, about people who had their daemons ripped from them, cut away. All that was left afterwards was a shell of what the person had once been. He didn’t wish that fate on anyone. But for someone not to have a daemon at all? 

He had never met anyone like that. 

“What do you mean, you don’t have one?” Stiles asked, shaking his head as the stranger finished getting dressed in his extra clothes. “And those are mine-”

“No, they’re not. These? Are mine.” Stiles was taken aback by the man’s tone. Stiles looked around again. 

“Where did my wolf go?” Stiles asked, concerned. “Did you run him off?”   
The man smirked at Stiles, shaking his head as he looked down at Adara. She was looking up at him like- 

Like she was smiling at him. Stiles jerked his head, his lips pursing. What the...?

“Stiles, I , _am_ the wolf,” the man exasperated. Stiles laughed. He wasn’t sure how he could laugh while frowning, but he was doing it. He looked from the man, to Adara, then back to him again. “You can put the knife down.” Stiles shook his head. 

“You-” Stiles started to speak, then he shut his mouth at the loss of words he was experiencing. “You’re a wolf,” he reiterated. “You’re a wolf who had clothes in my bag.” 

“Deaton put them in there for me.”

“Deaton knew I was carrying wolf clothes with me?” The man looked at Stiles like he was asking a trick question, his eyes falling to the knife still in Stiles’ hand. 

“I’m Derek,” he said with clarity. Stiles’ eyes widened. 

“Deaton said you would find me.”

“And I did,” Derek pointed out. Stiles was breathing heavily, obviously distraught. 

“You... I thought you were a real wolf.” 

“I’m a changeling.” Derek said the name with vehemence, like he hated using the term. Stiles dropped the hand that was holding the knife to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“I don’t trust you,” Stiles said, thinking about how Derek, the wolf, had led him here, had shown him the cave, had saved Adara. Derek tilted his head to the side, disbelief showing on his face that he knew Stiles was lying. Because Stiles had trusted the wolf implicitly. 

“Stiles, Deaton and I-”

“Oh, you-” Stiles grit his teeth. “You were the one other day who was talking to Deaton about me.”

“Yes”

“And he lied to me, acted like I was hearing things-”

“Stiles-”

“I’m going,” Stiles huffed. “Addie, come on,” Stiles said, leaving the pack behind, leaving Derek behind as he made his way to the mouth of the cave. Adara stopped him by nipping at his heels. 

“Stop, Stiles,” Adara hissed, sitting in front of Stiles, just before the pouring rain. “We need to trust him.”

“No,” Stiles berated, pointing at her. “We don’t. We shouldn’t have even trusted Deaton. He lied to us.”

“I told you Deaton knew he would hurt you.”

“We should have waited for dad.”

“We couldn’t have. Derek...”

“Could have just been howling to get us alone!” Stiles screamed. “Deaton used us.”

“He could have turned us over to the Argents but he didn’t. Derek...”

“We don’t even know him, Addie.”

“He saved my life,” she ranted, snarling at Stiles. They rarely fought. Stiles couldn’t even think of three times in his life that they didn’t see eye to eye on something. It felt like his heart was ripping in two. “And yours. He saved us, Stiles.” 

Stiles turned his gaze back down into the cave. Derek hadn’t followed him. Stiles then looked outside, to see that it was freezing rain, with icicles dripping from branches. He didn’t want to go out into the cold like that. Stiles shook with anger. 

“Deaton said that Derek would help us, and he has.” 

“Why are you so buddy-buddy with him?” Stiles asked to which Adara lowered her head, cowering a bit. 

“It feels right,” she whispered, looking up at Stiles. Stiles didn’t know what she meant by that, but it didn’t matter.

He had trusted the wolf since the moment he saw it with Adara in its mouth. Since it sat and watched him chop wood, since he slept beside it. Only it was a person and not just a wolf. Stiles shut his eyes, thinking. Stiles groaned, walking back towards the fire. Derek was sitting on the bed roll, his hands by the fire. 

“Why turn into a human now?” Stiles asked, still a good distance away. “Why now?”

“Because you needed to know,” Derek supplied dryly, not looking up at him. “And we have a lot to discuss.”

“Like what?” Stiles asked, defeated. Derek jerked his head to the side, indicating to Stiles that he should sit. “Do you think we have enough wood?” Stiles asked. 

“I brought some in earlier, I have it near the fire so it can dry... it’s why I became a human, so I could dry faster,” Derek admitted. “It’s going to be raining for a while. Good news is, I doubt Argent will be out in this weather, and our tracks will disappear as well.” Stiles sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

“So you, uh-” 

“Am taking you somewhere safe?” Stiles nodded. Derek sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Where is safe, really? I am going to try. Deaton gave me a list of people who may be able to help.”

“May?”

“You know you basically have a big bullseye attached to your back, right?”

“No one knows what I am unless they see my skin,” Stiles pointed out. Derek leaned over and sniffed him. Stiles reared back, pushing on Derek’s bicep. “Whoa, hey now. None of that.”

“You smell like an Alethiometer,” Derek grunted. Stiles’ jaw dropped. 

“I what now?”

“You smell of magic. It is earthy, tangy, spicy,” Derek waved his hand as he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I smelled you that day in the forest, felt your fear. It was how I found you.” 

“I smell of spices and fear?”

“You don’t always smell of fear.” 

“Good,” Stiles said, shifting his weight around so that he could sit cross legged. Derek ran a hand over his face, groaning. 

“Listen,” he said, not really looking Stiles in the eye. “I won’t let them take you, the Magisterium. I won’t.” 

“Okay,” Stiles whispered, biting his lower lip. “But, uh, I still don’t understand... how you can not have a daemon?” 

Derek was silent for a long time before he answered. 

“My family were all born without them,” Derek explained as he looked down at his hands instead of at Stiles. “We all had the ability to change into another form, the form of a wolf.” 

“All of you?” Stiles asked, playing with his scarf. Derek nodded. “Don’t you feel alone without a daemon?”

Derek looked at Adara and gave her a small, sad smile before he looked back at Stiles

“That’s not the reason I feel alone,” Derek admitted. Stiles looked into the fire, feeling as though he was delving into personal territory. “You can’t miss something you’ve never had.” 

“That makes sense,” Stiles sighed. “What are we going to do now, then? I mean, after this rain stops.” 

“Deaton told me of someone who was an Alethiometrist, I think we should seek them out.” 

“Okay,” Stiles said, nodding his head. “And will Deaton send my dad there as well?” 

“I don’t know,” Derek told him, running a hand through his hair like Stiles bringing up his father had made him uncomfortable. “Listen, about your dad...”

“What?” Stiles asked, interrupting him. By the look on Derek’s face, whatever he was about to say seemed to be hard for him to spit out. 

“Nevermind,” Derek said, shaking his head. 

“What, no, you can’t do that. What were you going to say?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowed, a hand on Derek’s bicep. 

“He wouldn’t be too happy to see me,” Derek admitted. Stiles blanched. 

“Why, why wouldn’t he be? You know him? He knows you? I’ve never even met you-”

“Yes, you have.” 

Stiles didn’t understand. 

“What do you mean, I have? I think I would know-”

“Well, you didn’t know me, but my family was connected to yours for a long time.” 

“Explain, please. Because... I really need to know where you are coming from with this.” Derek sighed, his face contorting in a grimace. 

“Around seven years ago there was this fire, it was set by Magesterium agents... well, it killed most of my family. My sister and I were two of the only survivors.” Stiles swallowed. They were both so silent that all they could hear was the sound of the falling rain and the crackle of the fire. 

“My mom died seven years ago,” Stiles supplied, his voice cracking. Derek nodded his head solemnly. 

“I know,” Derek whispered. “It was the same day of the fire.” 

“What? How do you know that?” Stiles asked, his hands instinctively reaching for Adara, petting her. 

“Because the only reason the Magisterium got to your mother in the first place was because mine was dead.” Adara whined as Stiles sat open mouthed, unable to look away from Derek. “My family and yours went way back, Stiles.” 

“Stop.”

“And the Magisterium knew that-”

“Derek, stop,” Stiles begged. Derek shut his mouth, looking at Stiles as he frowned. Stiles covered his mouth with a hand, closing his eyes. “So you’re telling me that your family protected mine, so the Magisterium killed them all? To get to my mother?” 

“Yes,” Derek answered, his voice barely audible. 

“I am so, so sorry,” Stiles admitted, his face falling. “Your entire family?” 

“Except Laura and me.” 

“Is Laura, is she...?”

“She’s alive, yes,” Derek nodded in affirmation. “But she wants nothing to do with Alethiometers or the Magisterium.”

“And you?” Stiles asked, gulping. “Why stay away so long? Why come back now?” 

“It was an accident, coming across you. Laura and I live just near Deaton’s village, in a cabin. I was on a run when I came across your scent. I knew I had to bring you to Deaton, that he would know what to do.” 

“So, Deaton will tell my dad I am with you?” Derek nodded. “Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it?” Derek looked at Stiles like he wasn’t so sure. 

“I feel like your father blames us for what happened to Moira.” Stiles hadn’t heard his mother’s name said aloud in years. His chest swelled up with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat. 

“I don’t, though,” Stiles spat out with vehemence for the Magisterium. “Your family died, there is no way my dad would blame you. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Well-”

“It’s as much your fault as it is mine. I couldn’t save my mother either. I was there, you know. I failed her, too.” 

“That’s not the way I hear it,” Derek said with a raised eyebrow. “You killing two men at eleven.” Stiles scoffed, shaking his head. “But I won’t fail this time,” Derek promised. “I won’t let them get you.” 

For the first time, Stiles actually believed someone that wasn’t his father. He smiled as he nodded his head. He didn’t have to do this on his own.


	7. Chapter 7

The freezing rain lasted another night. When Stiles and Derek awoke to a cloudy sky, without rain, they decided to leave the safety of the cave. Derek explained that it would be easier for them to travel if he was a wolf so he could use his other senses better. Stiles nodded in agreement as Derek stripped his clothes, then transformed into the wolf. Stiles folded Derek’s clothes, rolling them up until they were as small as they could get before he put them in his pack. 

Derek led the way. To where, Stiles was unsure. He tried not to think about things he couldn’t control, like the whereabouts of his father, how everything that happened with Scott had been his fault, about the gunshot that had gone off as they fled Deaton’s. 

Adara was running ahead with Derek. Stiles watched her bounce around Derek as they walked. The wolf ignored her for the most part, concentrating on getting them to safety. Stiles’ eyes widened when he recalled the fact that the wolf had taken Adara in his mouth when he saved her, that Derek had touched her and Stiles hadn’t felt pain, hadn’t felt unease. He wondered if it was because Derek was in an animal form, and not in human form. 

Stiles walked in silence until his stomach revolted, begging for them to stop so that he could eat. They took a short rest, along with a nap. Stiles was surprised when Derek joined him, in wolf form, by putting his head in Stiles’ lap while Adara curled up next to Derek. Stiles, his eyelids heavy, ran his fingers through Derek’s fur before he dozed off.

Derek woke Stiles up by lifting his head as if he heard something, his ears at attention. Stiles held his breath, trying to listen for whatever Derek heard. Derek got up, putting a paw on Stiles’ thigh as if telling him to stay put. Stiles picked a sleepy Adara up, putting her in his lap as he nodded. Derek bounded away, leaving Stiles alone with Adara who yawned. 

“Do you hear anything?” Stiles whispered to her. Adara’s ears twitched as she stretched. 

“No, just forest animals.” 

“You sure?” Stiles inquired. “Derek-”

“Is doing a perimeter check, he is running in a large circle around us.” Stiles stood so he could stretch as well, reaching towards the sky before pulling the pack on. After a few minutes, Derek showed up to lead them away. 

By the time the sun started to set, Stiles could barely move because his legs were so heavy, his muscles screaming at him for walking so far. They gathered kindling and made a fire. Stiles’ nose was freezing, as were his hands. As he readied the bedroll and pulled out food, he also poured some water into a tin cup that was attached to the pack and put it by the fire to heat up. In the rations he found a teabag, and he wanted to warm up as much as he could before he slept. He pulled on the gloves as well. Adara laid as close as she could to the fire without getting burned. Stiles handed the wolf clothes so he could change. The wolf took them in his mouth and sauntered a ways away so that he could dress. 

When Derek returned, he was rubbing his hands together and blowing in them to warm them up. He sat next to Stiles on the bedroll. 

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked as he handed Derek some jerky, bread, and part of an apple that he cut up. 

“Deaton told me of an Alethiometrist-”

“Why would we go there?” Stiles asked, checking the cup of water to see if the water was getting hot. “I have no intention of being an Alethiometer. I want to hide, I want for them not to find me.” 

“Deaton is sending your father to her, we will meet up with him there. Then we can figure out how to keep you safe. We needed a meeting place.” Stiles bit his lip and sighed. 

“Okay, but I have no intention of letting someone do that to me again.”

“Do what?” Derek asked, his voice low, like a growl. It made Stiles shiver. 

“Take a reading? Off of me?” Stiles stammered. “Deaton-”

“Deaton used you?” Derek asked, aghast. Stiles was surprised at how angry Derek sounded. “He is no Alethiometrist-”

“He said that, but we didn’t know it would be painful.” 

“He knew,” Derek hissed, his body stiff and tense. Stiles looked to Adara who looked away from him, a low whine escaping from her. Stiles’ face scrunched up unhappily. 

“So I am finding out,” he mumbled. 

“Why would he do that to you?” 

“Because he had questions and needed an answer? Because I let him do it?” Derek’s jaw clenched. “Are you.. are we going to take turns on watch?” Stiles asked, changing the subject. 

“That was the plan.”

“Are you warm enough?” Stiles asked, looking at what Derek was wearing. He didn’t even have a coat. Stiles wrapped his arms around himself. 

“I’m fine,” Derek answered, giving Stiles a small smile. “I run hot.” Stiles scoffed. 

“It’s freezing,” Stiles pointed out. 

“The fire will keep me warm enough.” Stiles looked down to see that the water was bubbling. Stiles, with his gloves on, took the cup and put it aside, dipping the tea bag into it. Once it cooled enough, Stiles took a careful sip. 

“Do you want some?” Stiles asked, offering Derek the cup. 

“Sure,” Derek said, taking it and drinking. Stiles was silent, unsure of what to talk about. Adara was chewing on her jerky, making it last. 

“Want me to take first watch?” Stiles asked. 

“Do you want to? Aren’t you tired?” 

“Yes, I am. I just thought I’d ask.”

“You sleep, I’ll wake you when I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.” Stiles nodded as Derek handed the cup back to him. Stiles finished the tea, loving the warmth it brought him. Derek sat on the edge of the bed roll, leaving plenty of room for Stiles to lay down comfortably. Stiles padded his head with his arm, pulling Adara close to him as he shut his eyes. 

Birds and sunlight woke Stiles. Stiles jolted, breathing in sharply as he sat up and looked around. Derek was nowhere to be found, and the fire was down to embers. It was just after dawn, and frost covered the ground surrounding him. Stiles looked around, a hand rubbing his face to force himself awake. 

“Derek?” Stiles called out as he stood up, spinning around, his eyes darting across the forest. Stiles felt his stomach drop. “Derek!” He called out, louder this time. Stiles jumped, his hand flying to the dagger at his thigh when he heard a howl. Stiles looked down at the ground, seeing a pile of clothes next to the bedroll. Stiles scrambled, kneeling quickly as he grabbed the clothes, stuffing them into the bag as Derek cried out with another howl. Stiles packed the bedroll, his hands shaking as Adara watched him, her fur standing on end. “Come on, Addie!” Stiles gasped as he stood. He ran, away from where he thought the howling was coming from. He heard growling, a fight between what sounded like two wolves. Stiles never ran faster in his life. He could hear Adara running beside him, not wanting to venture too far from him. 

Stiles ran with the knife in his hand, not wanting anyone to catch him off guard. Stiles stumbled to a halt when he saw a figure in the distance, standing with their arms crossed. It was a woman, wearing trousers, her hair curling around her shoulders. Stiles panted for breath as the woman in front of him tilted her head, smiling. 

“Who are you?” Stiles asked, gripping his knife tight. 

“The name’s Kate,” she answered. “And you must be Stiles.” 

Stiles stood there, eyes narrowed. Kate’s daemon, a raven, perched on her shoulder. 

“Why do you say that?” Stiles asked as Adara stood at attention by his feet. Kate, whoever she was, had a smirk that made Stiles’ blood boil. She looked at him as if he was a child and that? He did not appreciate. 

“My brother ran into you,” she offered. Stiles didn’t react, remaining stoic. “Us Argents are in the family business.” 

“And what business is that? Killing innocent teenagers?” With that, Stiles lunged forward with his knife, not needing any more proof that she was sent by the Magisterium. Kate dodged him, unsheathing her own knife. Stiles crouched, mere feet from her, one palm on the ground as he looked up at her, waiting for an opportunity to attack. 

“You are not innocent, Stiles. Killing how many Magisterium agents? Two at age eleven, three a week ago in Beacon Hills? You are a murderer.”

“Self-defense is not murder.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” Kate preened. Stiles thought for a moment, about running, but something told him that Kate was a fast runner, and he was carrying a 20lb pack on his shoulders. 

 

“I’m not going with you quietly,” Stiles confessed. 

“Oh, that I know for certain.” 

“They want me alive,” Stiles pointed out. He wanted to make sure that she remembered just that, that you couldn’t use a dead Alethiometer. Only now that he knew what it felt like to be asked a question, he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t rather be dead. 

“Oh, believe me, I was told just as much. I can wound you without killing you, boy.” Stiles grit his teeth at the word ‘boy’. “I just need to get you to the Magisterium-”

“That isn’t happening,” Stiles berated, as she stepped forward. Stiles slashed with his knife in order to keep her back. She walked around him, making him turn as well, his body low to the ground. Adara snapped her teeth at Kate as the raven cawed. She lunged, Stiles countered. The clang of their knives clashing together filled the clearing. Stiles was on the defense, using the blade to stop hers. He watched her movements as best he could, countering her at each swing. Stiles shifted his weight and slid his leg outwards, tripping her. Kate fell onto her back. Stiles took the opportunity, climbing on top of her, straddling her. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. She struggled against him, getting them a few inches off the ground before he used all of his strength in order to keep her at bay. He squeezed her wrists, banging the hand with the knife as hard as he could against the ground.

Stiles didn’t realize he was screaming until he heard Derek howl nearby. Stiles didn’t have time to check where Derek was, or what he was doing, because Kate was strong, and she was very, very angry. Both of their knives were cast aside, Stiles had dropped his as soon as he got her to the ground. Stiles could hear the raven and Adara fighting off to the side as he struggled to keep Kate down. 

All it took to break Stiles’ concentration was the sound of pain from a wolf. Stiles’ eyes shot up, searching for Derek. Next thing Stiles knew, he was on his back with Kate’s forearm against his throat, her face inches from his. Stiles tried to shove her off of him as he gasped for air, but it was difficult. With his other hand, he reached outwards, searching for a knife, any knife. 

 

Instead, he found a small rock. Gritting his teeth, he swung it as hard as he could, despite the lack of momentum. He heard it crack as it hit Kate’s skull. She dropped on top of him, knocked out. Her raven squawked in pain, flailing around on the ground until it made its way towards her body. Stiles pushed her off of him, then kicked her body as he scooted away, panting for breath. He grabbed both of the knives, sheathed his, then examined her for hers. It was a belt, so he pulled it off her. He searched her, finding nothing else of use. Stiles then remembered Derek, and the yelp of pain he had heard. 

“Addie, where is Derek?” Stiles asked, his voice hushed as he quickly buckled the belt, but kept the knife out. Adara crouched low to the ground, creeping across the forest floor in a direction. Stiles joined her, keeping close to the ground. 

The closer they got, the more snarling and fighting Stiles heard. There were two wolves fighting, growling and snapping their teeth. Both were bleeding, by the looks of their coats, and one of them was limping pretty badly. Stiles couldn’t tell them apart from where he was standing, so he was unsure of if Derek was the injured one or not. It also meant that he couldn’t step in and attempt to help, even though coming face to face with a rabid wolf didn’t sound like something that Stiles was too keen on doing. 

Stiles watched with a heaving chest, his eyes wide. Adara was flat against the forest floor, her eyes darting back and forth between them. 

“Can you tell which is Derek?” Stiles asked her. Adara nodded. “Can you help him, do you think?” 

“I can,” Adara said, looking up at Stiles. “It is a bit far, though.” Stiles bit his lip. 

“I can handle it. If I get any closer the other wolf might attack. I’d be done for.” 

“Maybe Derek can force the fight this way,” Adara called out as she leapt forwards, bounding for the two wolves. Stiles watched on as his stomach dropped at the sudden distance Adara put between them. He felt the familiar tug in his gut, the lightheadedness that came with them being too far apart. He grasped at a tree, keeping himself up as he attempted to watch what was happening. His vision went blurry, which made him close his eyes in order to try to rectify his eyesight. He heard a yelp, and teeth tearing, ripping. 

Stiles leaned against the tree, his head resting against the bark as Adara crawled into his lap and nudged him with her nose. Stiles opened his eyes slowly, wincing. 

“You’re bleeding,” Derek’s voice rang out. Stiles groaned, shaking his head clear. “And Adara was too far from you, that is dangerous,” Derek pointed out, his voice clipped, angry. Stiles patted her head, scratching her ears, then under her chin. 

“We can handle it,” Stiles murmured. 

“Except you passed out,” Derek sighed, rummaging through the bag for his clothes. Stiles’ cheeks reddened as he averted his eyes from Derek. He caught the sight of blood out of the corner of his eye, though, and couldn’t help but look at him, check him for injuries. 

“You’re hurt!” Stiles exclaimed, pushing himself up, away from the tree. Derek shot him a look as he pulled his pants up. His neck and back were bloodied, but the gashes seemed to be fading quickly. “What the-”

“I heal quickly, unlike you,” Derek pointed towards Stiles’ forearm. 

“What? I didn’t even... I didn’t know she cut me.” Stiles watched as Derek wiped the blood off of himself, then rummaged through the pack for the gauze. 

“She?” Derek asked as he grabbed Stiles’ wrist, yanking Stiles’ shirt up his elbow. 

“Hey, watch it!” Stiles tried pulling his arm back, but Derek’s grip was tight. Stiles looked down to see that there was a pretty deep gash in his forearm from Kate’s knife. Derek poured some water over the cut, which made Stiles shiver at its temperature. “Yeah, while you were fighting wolfie over there, this woman named Kate-”

“Kate?” Derek asked, his eyebrows raising, his ministrations over Stiles stopping momentarily. Stiles nodded his head in affirmation. 

“Yeah, Kate, she wanted to take me to the Magisterium. She said she was an Argent.” Derek rumbled with anger as he unrolled the gauze. Out of it fell needle and thread. Stiles’ eyes widened. “Do you know how to-”

“Yes,” Derek interrupted. “Hold still.”

“Are you sure I need stitches?” Stiles asked, raking his teeth over his bottom lip. “I mean, it doesn’t look that bad to me.”

“Stop lying to yourself.”

“Well you have to burn the needle first!” Stiles yelped, pulling his hand away. Derek sighed, looking around. 

“Okay, you stay here a moment. Peter and Kate aren’t dead, or did you kill her?” Stiles shook his head. 

“I knocked her out with a rock.” Derek smirked at Stiles before disappearing towards where Stiles left Kate. 

“Pack up, we’re moving!” Derek called out. Stiles rolled up the gauze, making sure to grab the needle and thread. Stiles was still bleeding, but apparently he wasn’t in any apparent danger. It was throbbing now. Stiles supposed his adrenaline had kept him from feeling it beforehand. Derek reappeared, pulling his shirt on, then grabbing the pack from Stiles. “We’re going to find someplace safe to sleep tonight, with dry wood and a stream.”

“Sounds rather optimistic to me,” Stiles mumbled, keeping his sleeve pushed up to his elbow so he didn’t get any more blood on it. He sheathed Kate’s knife, then followed into step with Derek, trying to keep up with him. 

They walked in silence while Adara ran out ahead of them, but not too far. Stiles felt ill, like he needed to throw up in order to feel better. He blamed it on pushing the distance maximum with Adara. Derek was side-eyeing him as they walked, but he wasn’t about to tell Derek that he felt like falling over. His muscles ached from how much they had been traveling, and his stomach growled from lack of food. 

Derek didn’t stop until an hour before dusk. He managed to find an abandoned cabin near a stream. Stiles couldn’t believe his eyes, actually. Derek had left Stiles outside it while he checked it out. It was one room, and it had a fireplace. Stiles sighed with relief when Derek said that it was, indeed, abandoned. 

“Go inside and clean up as much as you can, I’m going to gather enough firewood to last us a while.”

“A while?” Stiles asked, but Derek was already gone. 

Stiles used the remaining daylight to push the table that was in the middle of the cabin to the side, against one of the windows, so he could lay the bed roll out near the fireplace. Derek walked in, stacking firewood against one of the walls. 

The fire felt amazing as it warmed the room. There had been a kettle, which Stiles hung over the fire to boil water. Derek sterilized the needle then sat Stiles down in one of the chairs so he could sew up the gash in his arm. Stiles refused to make a sound as Derek stitched him up. When he was through, he wrapped the bandage around Stiles’ arm carefully. 

“I’m going out,” Derek said afterwards, as Stiles made himself tea. 

“What?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowed with worry. “Out? Out where?” 

“Around the perimeter,” Derek said as he pulled off his shirt. Stiles couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from him. “See if I can find us something to eat for tomorrow.”

“Oh, like rabbit?” Stiles asked. Adara’s ears perked up from where she lay on the bed roll, warming herself by the fire. 

“Yes, it is just now dusk, so I should be back...” Derek trailed off as he pulled off his boots, then his pants. Stiles looked down, then, his cheeks reddening. 

After he was gone, Stiles looked around the cabin, wondering how long they would be staying here. By the looks of the wood gathered, at least a few days worth. Hooks hung from the wall where they could hang anything that Derek caught them. 

Stiles woke up to the sound of the door opening. Somehow, he had fallen asleep curled up on the bed roll with Adara against his stomach. Stiles opened his eyes to see Derek, naked, holding two rabbits in his hand. Stiles snorted, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, attempting to ignore the sudden reaction Derek had on his body. Derek said nothing as he hung the rabbits up, then poured some water in a basin, scrubbing his hands clean before he pulled his pants back on. 

“This fire is amazing,” Stiles confessed as he added a few more pieces of wood to the fire, stoking it. Derek grunted his agreement. “Do you want tea?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head. 

“No, but I could use some jerky. And bread, if there is any left.” Stiles nodded as he emptied out the pack, showing Derek what food they had left. There wasn’t much, but with the rabbit, Stiles was sure they would be okay. “Tomorrow I can look for wild onions, mushrooms...” Derek trailed off. “We could make stew.” 

“That sounds really good,” Stiles said smiling. 

“How’s your arm?” Derek asked, his eyes raking down Stiles’ body, checking him for other injuries. 

“It’s fine, just a scratch,” Stiles smirked as he watched Derek eat the jerky. “How long are we staying here?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged. 

“I can tell you can’t go much farther, you need rest.” Stiles frowned. 

“I can, too, go farther-” Derek stopped Stiles’ sentence with a look. “But a couple days to recuperate would be good, too.” 

“That was easier than I thought it would be,” Derek said warmly, taking a seat at the table. 

“What are we going to do about watch?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head. 

“No watch, we’re safe here.” 

“How do you know?” Stiles asked. “How can you be sure?” 

“Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have commented. You keep my head up when I feel down <3


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Stiles walked around with Derek, finding edible wild plants. Stiles knew a little about poisonous plants, but Derek’s knowledge seemed to be extensive. It made sense, since apparently Derek and Laura lived out in the woods, away from Sanderson. They found asparagus and chicory. Derek picked the flowers off of the chicory for them to snack on as they walked back. Derek was able to gather Bolete mushrooms as well, for the stew. 

Stiles fed Adara chicory flowers as he chopped the stalks. Derek skinned the rabbits outside, then cooked the meat. 

Stiles slept, his exhaustion showing through. By the time he stirred again, it was late afternoon and the stew was cooking. 

“Derek,” Stiles said, his voice not all there from sleep, “yesterday you called the other wolf Peter. Do you know him?” 

“I did, yes.” Derek was seated at the table, chopping what looked like wild clovers. He pursed his lips before he answered Stiles. “He was my uncle. I thought him dead until he attacked me.” Derek’s voice was quiet, hushed. “I had assumed he died in the fire, but apparently they had taken him, poisoned his mind. He was practically feral.” 

“They found us... like how you found me?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded. “Then they could again-”

“No,” Derek’s voice boomed as he slammed his fist against the table. Adara’s ears flattened in response to Derek’s outburst. “I made sure he wouldn’t. I... didn’t kill him, but I made it so that he wouldn’t be able to smell very easily anymore.” 

Stiles made a gagging sound as he shook his head. He could only imagine what that meant. Adara stretched, clawing her way across the floor before sitting by the door, looking at Stiles. She wanted to be let outside. Stiles sighed, looking at Derek as he stood up and put on his coat. 

“Addie wants to go for a walk,” Stiles supplied as he grabbed his knitted hat and scarf, putting them on as well. Derek looked up at him, nodding. 

“I’ll finish putting everything in the stew, then I’ll find you.” Stiles gave Derek a small smile, then opened the door. It was colder than it had been earlier in the day, with the sun quickly falling behind trees. Adara bolted, running around the cabin. 

“Addie!” Stiles called out, rolling his eyes as he shoved his hands into the pockets of the coat. 

“What?” She asked as she bounded back towards him, clearly happy to be outside. Stiles smiled at her.

“Don’t go off too far, I’m still feeling sick from yesterday,” Stiles answered. It was true, Stiles felt ill, like he could drop to the ground and throw up. He chalked it up to the fact that they hadn’t stopped moving since he left Beacon Hills and that, on top of everything, Adara had gotten hurt, and then the pain from Deaton igniting the markings on his back, and then Adara venturing too far from him; his body was revolting against him. 

Adara padded closer to Stiles, walking by his side. Stiles breathed carefully, slowly through his nose as they strolled. Stiles heard twigs cracking, and something running towards him. He turned around, his hand going for the knife at his belt. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was Derek in wolf form, rushing towards them. Stiles stopped walking as he waited for Derek to catch up with them. He laughed when Derek knocked into him on purpose, his nose nudging him against his legs. Adara pounced on the wolf, biting his ear playfully. Derek shook her off of him, then pinned her down, play fighting with her. 

Stiles watched him, his eyes wide. 

He didn’t feel anything bad. He didn’t feel like he did when Deaton had touched Adara, he didn’t feel violated. He barely noticed a difference, which confused him. Stiles bit his lip as he watched them, Adara pawing at Derek’s muzzle, her tail swishing from side to side as Derek licked her. Stiles closed his eyes, letting out a short gasp. 

That? That he felt. It felt like his body shivered, but in a warm, spreading sensation. Stiles licked his lips, looking away from them, his shoulders scrunching up as he dug his hands deeper into his coat pockets. It felt nothing like when Deaton had touched Adara. 

The only people to ever touch her had been his parents, and that even felt different than this. Stiles concentrated on his breathing, attempting to ignore the pull deep in his stomach, the tightening of his pants between his legs. His eyelids felt heavy, and his breathing became shorter, quicker. 

“I think we should head back,” Stiles spoke up, his voice cracking slightly. Derek sat back on his haunches, looking up at Stiles silently while Adara didn’t move, laying on her back with her front paws in the air. “The stew should be ready.”

Derek walked over, standing by Stiles as they waited for Adara to join them. As they walked back, Stiles absentmindedly ran his fingers through Derek’s fur, catching it in his fingers, holding onto it. 

Once they were back in the cabin, Stiles went about setting the table, getting bowls out and spoons, stirring the stew as Derek changed. He watched, though, out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help himself, the way Derek took his time dressing. 

When he was done, he sat down at the table, watching Stiles. Stiles gulped, sighing as he sat, taking off his hat then rubbing his head, scratching it with his blunted nails, his face contorting.   
He didn’t know how to bring up everything that he was feeling, about what happened in the woods. 

“Do you think you are rested enough?” Derek asked. Stiles hadn’t been expecting the question, so he shrugged before he even thought about it. “We are about to head up a mountain, which will be harder than the flat land we have been going across so far.” 

“I think after we eat this and rest more, that maybe I would be? I thought we had a few days here.” 

“We have a few days left, yes. But there won’t be warmth, or any shelter on the way up.”

“Do we have to go up the mountain?” Stiles asked, watching Derek’s face. Derek closed his eyes, smiling to himself as he nodded his head. 

“We do, that is where the closest Alethiometrist is, where your father will be.” Stiles sat up straighter, then. He wanted to see his father more than anything. 

“I will have to be ready, then. I can find a walking stick or something. We can still make fires, right? We will be okay.” 

Derek served them the stew, which tasted delicious and filled Stiles’ stomach for what felt like ages since Deaton’s. Then, Derek heated up water so that they could clean themselves off. Stiles went first, scrubbing himself with a rag and water, dripping water over his short hair. It was warm, and felt good on his skin as he washed the dirt away. Stiles tried not to think about Derek as he took his pants off in order to finish his semi-bath. Derek was still eating, he could hear the scrape of the spoon in the bowl. When he was through, Derek stood up and started to strip, readying himself for a wash as Stiles pulled his clothes back on. 

Instead of watching Derek, Stiles stoked the fire, adding more wood to it so that they could keep warm. Part of him wished they could stay in the cabin, that no one would find them here, in the middle of nowhere, but then he would never see his father again. It would be bearable, if not for that fact. 

Stiles sat curled up on the bed roll, his knees pulled close to his chest, his eyes darting over to Derek, raking up and down his body quickly before returning his gaze back to the fire. Adara was staring up at him with her head tilted. 

“You are mad at me,” she pointed out. “Is it because of the woods?” Stiles pursed his lips together, looking at Derek, then back at Adara, shrugging his shoulders. “Did you feel it?” Adara asked. 

“It didn’t feel like when Deaton touched you,” Stiles whispered. “When he did, I felt like I was falling, like there was no ground under my feet. I felt sick. What happened earlier felt different.” Adara hummed knowingly, as if she was waiting for Stiles to figure something out for himself. Stiles bit his lip as Derek started to dress once more, making his way over to them. He sat down next to Stiles on the bed roll, looking between them. 

Stiles sat up straighter, his breath quickening. He didn’t want to talk about it with Derek, about any of it. About how Derek made him _feel_ because it was complicated, it wasn’t something Stiles had ever felt before. It was strange and on the cusp of him needing some privacy in order to take care of himself, of the burning within him. Stiles’ breathing became shallow, his eyelids heavy. Derek reached out, touching Stiles’ arm where his bandage was, where the stitches that Derek gave him were. Stiles leaned into the touch. Derek was sitting so close to him that as Stiles leaned in, their arms touched. Stiles visibly relaxed, the warmth that filled him made him calmer. Stiles wanted more, he yearned for more. 

Stiles’ head rested against Derek’s shoulder, as if it belonged there to begin with. Derek’s hand left Stiles’ arm and reached upwards and back, hooking around Stiles’ side, pulling him closer. 

“How do you feel right now?” Derek asked. Stiles closed his eyes, concentrating on the spreading warmth throughout his body, on the feeling of heavy limbs and awakening lust. Stiles opened his eyes, lifting his head from Derek’s shoulder. 

“Close to you,” Stiles confessed, his eyes wide, mouth parted. He swallowed. “It’s because of the woods-”

“No,” Derek shook his head, his other hand reaching for one of Stiles’ hands. They linked their fingers and Stiles felt another pull deep inside of him. He looked to Adara, who lay on her back, her belly exposed. Stiles’ heart was beating fast. If only Derek had a daemon, Stiles would be able to see, would be able to tell what was going on. Lines were blurred, with Derek’s daemon being inside of him, of them being one. He was the wolf, he was his own daemon. 

Stiles leaned forward, brushing his lips against Derek’s tentatively. Derek’s mouth was open and willing, his lips soft and his stubble harsh, biting. Stiles breathed in through his nose, closing his eyes as the tip of Derek’s tongue brushed against his lips. Stiles parted his lips, his hands reaching for Derek’s shirt, bringing him closer. 

Stiles’ body reacted to every touch as Derek held a hand to Stiles’ neck and back, deepening the kiss. Stiles let out a moan, which caught him by surprise. Stiles pushed back on Derek’s chest, separating them. Stiles covered his mouth with one hand, feeling his swollen lips with his fingers. 

“Wow,” Stiles said in a laugh. Derek raised an eyebrow at him, then looked down at Adara who was rolling back and forth, contented. Derek smiled, reaching outwards, running his fingers across her belly. Stiles parted his lips, his eyes fluttering shut. There was nothing that could describe how he felt, like he was swimming through a cloud, jumping up into the air but never falling back down to the ground.

Derek’s mouth was on him again, their lips brushing together momentarily before Derek left a trail of kisses down Stiles’ neck, his tongue darting out of his mouth, his teeth raking across Stiles’ skin. Stiles gripped Derek’s hair in his fist as he lay on the ground, pulling Derek down with him as their mouths crashed back together, open and greedy for more. Derek lay on top of him, his elbows on either side of Stiles’ head, looking down at him. Stiles shifted beneath him so that his legs were spread, letting Derek fall between them. They laid there in silence, staring at each other. 

“So, uh, what now?” Stiles asked. Derek laughed, burying his face between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, rubbing his nose against Stiles’ skin. Stiles had never been this close to anyone, never let anyone touch him, let alone kiss anybody. He was always self-conscious of his markings, but he didn’t have to worry about them with Derek. He knew who he was, and he wanted to protect him, to keep him from the Magisterium. 

“Now? Whatever you want,” Derek said as he got off of Stiles, laying down next to him. Stiles scooted over so they both could lay down on the bed roll. He turned towards Derek, his fingers still clutching at Derek’s shirt. Stiles leaned in, finding Derek’s lips again. He wanted more, wanted to keep kissing him. Derek’s hand cupped Stiles’ face, slipping a leg between Stiles’. Stiles moaned as his hands hiked up Derek’s shirt. The feel of Derek’s skin against his made Stiles shudder. 

Stiles gasped as Derek left a trail down his neck, marking his skin with his mouth. Stiles, his mind muddled and hands unsteady, pushed Derek onto his back, then straddled him. 

“I need to know something,” Stiles said, his voice completely broken, heavy in his throat. Derek’s hands were on his waist, his fingertips ghosting across his stomach as he waited for the question. “What do you feel?”

Derek tilted his head to the side, his eyelids heavy as he looked up at Stiles, his thumb drawing invisible circles around the divots where Stiles’ hip bones protruded slightly, his skin sensitive to every touch. Derek took his time before he answered, lips parting as he breathed in deeply. 

“I feel what Adara does,” Derek whispered, his gaze sliding over to Adara momentarily before returning back to Stiles. Stiles’ hands were on Derek’s chest, his fingers gripping tight to his shirt. 

“What does she feel?” Stiles asked, knowing the question was heavy, that there was something there, something that Adara hadn’t been telling him. 

“We are connected,” Derek answered simply, his shoulders shrugging as if he couldn’t explain it any further. Stiles lifted an eyebrow. He wanted to not believe Derek, to push off of him and roll his eyes, but he knew deep down that it was true. Stiles closed his eyes as he thought about the feeling of Derek as the wolf playing with Adara, how he literally felt the warmth spreading throughout his body. 

Stiles throbbed between his legs. He bit his lip and opened his eyes, looking down at Derek, his pupils blown and breath coming in short, shallow spurts. 

“Yes,” Stiles said, nodding his head. Derek smiled up at him as he sat up, his hands sliding up Stiles’ body until he cupped Stiles’ face, then kissed him. Stiles pressed his body against Derek’s, gasping into the kiss. It was more desperate, heated than before as Stiles rolled his hips, searching for friction. Derek groaned deep in his throat, wrapping an arm around Stiles, pulling him even closer so that their erections rubbed together through the fabric of their pants. 

Stiles’ teeth raked across Derek’s lower lip, his hands grasping at Derek’s hair as Derek’s hands slid down Stiles’ back, gripping tightly to his ass as he bucked his hips upwards. Stiles let out a moan as he grit his teeth, his fingers digging into the skin of Derek’s neck, yanking on his hair. Derek’s mouth trailed along Stiles’ collarbone and neck as Derek slowly pushed Stiles’ shirt up his chest then over his head. Stiles bit down on his own lip as Derek’s lips pressed wet, lewd kisses across his bare chest, covering his markings. Stiles shivered, his head thrown back as Derek teased a nipple first with his mouth, then with his thumb. 

Stiles was panting, covered in a thin sheen of sweat that Derek couldn’t seem to get enough of as he lapped at Stiles neck and shoulder. Stiles’ entire body throbbed as his eyes cast across the room in a daze, falling on Adara. She was awake, her eyes lidded. 

For a moment, Stiles was self-conscious. His body flushed as Derek’s hand slipped beneath the fabric of his pants, cupping his ass, a finger sliding between his cheeks. Stiles shut his eyes as he bit back a moan. If Derek had a daemon, Adara would have someone to cuddle with, to nuzzle her nose against. But she was alone. 

Stiles yearned for something more, to be touched, for Adara to be pet. Stiles reached out, his fingers running down her back, a thumb and forefinger tugging lightly at her ear. Stiles was leaning back some, with Derek’s mouth on him when Derek decided to change positions. Derek shifted beneath him and in one swift movement, Stiles was on his back, his arm still stretched out to Adara as Derek lay on top of him, spreading Stiles’ legs so that he fit between them. 

Stiles felt Derek’s fingers outlining the marks on his chest, on his shoulders, his tongue tracing slowly across his skin. Stiles arched his back, both of his hands raking over Derek’s back, his skin flushed red and mouth open, panting. He felt like he was going to explode, like he was overheating, like Derek had all the control. That Derek was undoing him from the inside out. Stiles shuddered as Derek’s tongue licked along his jawline before finding his mouth once more. 

Stiles’ nose bumped against Derek’s as he tried to deepen the kiss, a leg hooking around Derek’s thigh as he tried to bring their bodies closer together. Derek took the hint, though, and rolled his hips, brushing his own erection against Stiles’. Stiles whimpered, his hands not knowing where to go or what to do. His hand slipped tentatively down the front of Derek, cupping him through the fabric. Derek pushed off of Stiles, his chest heaving as he ran his own fingers through his hair, his mouth open and wet. 

Stiles stilled, not knowing what he did wrong. 

“What-” Stiles began to say, worry dripping from his voice. Derek shook his head, his hand reaching for Adara innocently, his fingers playing across her fur. 

“I got carried away,” Derek confessed, clearing his throat. Stiles’ heart was beating in his chest as if it was about to burst free. Stiles sat up, pain of rejection shooting across his face. “I don’t want this to be too much.”

“It wasn’t too much,” Stiles chided, looking to Adara. She was blissed out, on her back again, letting Derek rub her belly as she stretched out across the floor. Stiles’ eyes narrowed. He was baffled by Derek’s sudden change, about him pulling away. Stiles felt overstimulated, and Derek touching Adara was calming, euphoric, and yet Derek had stopped. Derek had pulled away. 

Stiles stood up, grabbing his sweater and pulling it on, his body obviously still betraying him. He ached for Derek’s touch once more, to have Derek’s mouth on him, but now-

“It was too much, Stiles. I’m your protector.” Derek voice was small, barely audible, guilty. Stiles looked to Derek, his mouth dry as it hung open. 

“I can protect myself,” Stiles sneered. Derek pulled his hand back from Adara, as if burned. Adara walked over to Stiles, sitting by his feet. She was his daemon, and he was seething. The air hung heavy between them. “You can’t tell me that we have a bond and then just-”

“Stiles, it isn’t like that,” Derek pleaded, sighing as he shut his eyes. “There are things you don’t understand, that if we were to act upon our impulses fully-”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asked, his voice shaking. “I wanted to touch you, I thought you wanted to touch me-”

“I do!” Derek bellowed, his fists clenched at his sides as he kneeled on the ground. “God, I really, really want to. You have no idea how much I want my mouth around you.” Stiles closed his eyes at Derek’s words, trying not to tremble at how much he wanted the same thing. “But this bond?” Derek gestured between them, “is not something to be taken lightly.”

Stiles bit his lip. His body was buzzing, throbbing, urging him to go back to Derek, to wrap his legs around him, to let Derek take him, take all of him. He needed it. His mind wasn’t listening to what Derek was saying. 

“I’m not taking it lightly,” Stiles found himself saying as he took a step towards Derek. “Why did you stop?” 

“Because, you are addicting,” Derek confessed. “The need to be near you is overwhelming, to be close to Adara is blinding. I’m practically burning and that scares me.” Stiles sat down near Derek, a hand reaching out slowly until it rested on Derek’s thigh. Derek visibly slackened, as if Stiles’ touch calmed him, eased whatever was ailing him. 

“It scares me too,” Stiles whispered, licking his lips. “I’m alone, Derek. I need to find my father, I don’t want to be captured, but I don’t want you to think that I need protection. I can take care of myself.” 

“You can,” Derek nodded in agreement. “But the urge is still there for me, I can’t just... stop. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t,” Stiles said, his brow furrowing. Derek sighed, standing up. 

“I will be back, I have to check the perimeter.” 

Stiles watched him go in silence. He looked down to Adara who was licking her paw, cleaning herself. 

“Well?” Stiles asked her. Adara rolled over immediately, showing Stiles her belly. Stiles rolled his eyes as he scratched her until she shut her eyes, content. 

“Our souls are bonded,” she purred. Stiles retracted his hand, his eyes wide. “His wolf and I, you and him. All of us.” 

“Addie, that is superstition, fairy tales. Just because mom used to tell us-”

“Not a fairy tale,” Adara snapped, her teeth playfully nipping at Stiles’ fingers. “Truth.” Stiles looked to the door, his jaw slackened. “To seal the bond all it takes is-”

“Okay, yes. I get it. Release.”

“Together.”

Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. It was a lot to take in, a lot to think about. He knew, though, that if they really were soul bonded, that it didn’t matter if they had sealed it or not, they were already linked. Stiles thought that it should worry him, but it didn’t. Not in the slightest. 

When Derek returned, as the wolf, carrying his clothes, Stiles pulled him close, his fingers tangling in Derek’s fur, his face pressing into his neck. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, closing his eyes. 

“Don’t be scared,” Stiles gulped, a hand clenching around the fur at Derek’s back. “I’m not going anywhere.” Derek whimpered, then pressed his nose against Stiles’ cheek. It was cold and wet, but Stiles still felt the warmth spread throughout his body. Without a doubt, they would be bonded, the three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter! Hopefully it won't take as long for the next chapter to be up :)   
> Thanks for your patience!
> 
> If you want to find me on tumblr I am [slipintothewater](http://slipintothewater.tumblr.com) over there! I promise I don't bite :D


	9. Chapter 9

They rested for two more days, spending countless hours getting to know each other’s touch, gathering supplies, and keeping warm by the fire. Stiles knew that no matter what happened between them, the most important thing was staying safe and away from the Magisterium. He thought, briefly, about staying at the cabin. Technically, he was safe here, with Derek. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to find his father. His father meant safety. His father would be looking for him. Deaton would have told his father where he and Derek were headed, so they needed to head that way, up the mountain. Stiles was worried because Derek didn’t have a winter coat with him. Of course, Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles. 

“I will climb the mountain as the wolf, I won’t have to worry about a coat. And I can help keep you warm, and sense danger easier.” 

“But I can’t talk with you when you are the wolf,” Stiles pouted as he packed. Adara yawned, scratching her paws across the ground. 

“You’ll just be stuck with me for conversation,” she teased. Stiles scowled at her. Derek laughed, a smile tugging at his lips as a hand reached out, squeezing Stiles’ neck affectionately. Stiles shivered, his mouth twitching at the touch. Tension was high, the air around them sizzling like a crackling fire. Stiles couldn’t deny that them traveling would help the constant need within him. He wanted Derek, wanted to satiate his _want_. 

It was just after dawn when they headed out, the ground frosted over and breath showing as he breathed heavily, walking just behind Derek and Adara. 

Adara led the way, trotting out ahead of him and Derek. The day before, Derek had found a perfect walking stick for Stiles. Stiles wasn’t looking forward to the climb, but he was glad that Deaton had given him gloves. He had them stashed away in his pockets, wanting to put them on once they started climbing the mountain. He had his scarf wrapped around his face, and his hat pulled on tight. 

As they walked, Derek kept looking back at Stiles, making sure he was keeping up. The climb wasn’t steep, but there was a definite incline. The way was rocky, with no clear trail. Stiles’ muscles ached by the time they stopped for lunch. Although it was midday, it was freezing. Stiles’ nose was cold, pink, and he had to keep sniffling because it was running slightly due to the change in temperature. Stiles dug the gloves out of his pack, pulling them on in order to warm his fingers. 

“Night time is going to be horrible,” Stiles called out to Adara who was just on the edge of too far away from Stiles as they continued onwards. 

“We will be fine,” Adara said as she bounded back towards Stiles. “We will keep each other warm, and we will make a fire.” Stiles tried not to lick his lips, or bite them. It was a habit he had to break, fast, because of the cold. He looked up to the sky, not liking the look of the clouds that were rolling in. He doubted they would be able to find much shelter if it started snowing. 

“Let’s stop here,” Stiles panted hours later, sitting on the rock closest to him. “Gather wood for a fire, rest, sleep.” Stiles took off his pack, then dug out Derek’s clothes, offering them to the wolf. Derek sat, his head tilted. Stiles’ shoulders slumped. “Are you really staying a wolf? At least help me gather wood and eat with me.” 

Stiles felt like he was begging, but he wasn’t. He wanted company, he wanted to talk, to touch. He knew that was the main reason Derek was staying a wolf, it cut down on the tension. Stiles didn’t care though, he shoved the clothes at the wolf until he put them in his mouth, then walked off around a corner to change. Stiles sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. Adara crawled up into his lap, her ears against her head. “What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, frowning. 

“It’s cold,” Adara said, pawing at Stiles’ coat, wanting into the warmth, his body heat. Stiles unbuttoned his coat, letting her in. She shivered, burying her face into his armpit. Stiles wrapped his arms around her as he waited for Derek to reemerge. Stiles kicked at a small stone, watching it skip away from him as he waited. 

“Derek?” Stiles called out somewhat impatiently. His breath caught in his throat when he didn’t hear a return answer. “Addie, go find Derek,” Stiles urged, forcing her out of his coat. Adara hopped down, glaring at Stiles for making her leave the warmth of his coat. His hair was standing on edge. Something wasn’t right. After days of solitude, of being safe, everything seemed to be a threat. Up the mountain, Stiles flinched as crows cawed, as Derek snapped twigs as he walked out ahead of him. Hypervigilance was tiring. It made him skittish, but aware of every sound. Stiles jumped when Derek appeared with Adara coming up behind him. “Derek-”

“We shouldn’t stay here,” Derek whispered, grabbing hold of Stiles’ hand as he started walking up the trail. Stiles picked up the pack as they passed it, shrugging it over one shoulder. Stiles looked behind him to see Adara keeping up with them. Derek had Stiles’ walking stick in his other hand, using it to hurry them along. 

“Why, though? It will be dark soon.”

“Something smelled off, I don’t like it,” Derek told him, his hand squeezing Stiles’ urging him not to argue. Stiles quieted, his cheeks reddening when Derek didn’t drop Stiles’ hand as they made their way farther up the mountain. “Addie, do you smell the same thing I pointed out to you before?” Derek asked. Adara shook her head. 

“No, I don’t. I haven’t for a while.” 

They stopped walking, to the relief of Stiles’ legs. After they shared water, they gathered wood. It was sparse, but they gathered enough to last until the morning. Stiles started the fire with his flint and steel, sighing with contentment as he felt the warmth hit his face. Derek handed Stiles some food: jerky and greens. They ate in silence, leaning on each other with Adara sitting closest to the fire. 

“What do you think it was?” Stiles asked. “The thing you smelled earlier?” Derek shrugged, his arm around Stiles, pulling them closer together. Stiles could see Derek’s breath hanging in the air as he breathed in and out with his mouth parted. 

“I don’t know, but the wolf didn’t like it. When you told me to change, I was worried because I knew once I did that I wouldn’t be able to smell it as strongly.”

“So you still have a strong sense of smell as a human?” Derek nodded. Stiles smiled at him, his hand finding Derek’s free one. He was still wearing his gloves, but that didn’t stop them from linking their fingers together. 

“Yeah, but it isn’t the same. I like traveling as a wolf.” Stiles shivered as he nodded his head, wishing the fire was warmer. “I’m going to change back, so you can keep warm.” 

“No, don’t. Not yet,” Stiles insisted, holding tight to Derek’s hand. Derek smirked at him, leaning in and kissing Stiles on the lips. It was chaste, quick, but effective. Stiles caved, letting Derek go. Derek was fast in stripping out of his clothes, which only made Stiles wish that he wasn’t changing into the wolf even more. Derek transformed before Stiles’ eyes, gathering his clothes in his mouth before handing them over. Stiles looked at them, then had an idea. “I’m going to put these on, alright?” Stiles said. “To keep them warm and me warmer.” Derek sat back on his haunches, watching Stiles stand. He took off his coat, and sweater, pulling on Derek’s wool shirt, then pulling his sweater back over his head. Derek had a sweater too, just a little too big for Stiles, perfect for putting on over his other clothes. Stiles put his coat back on, then sat on his bed roll, making a bed for Adara with Derek’s pants. She curled up in it immediately. The wolf laid down behind Stiles, furthest from the fire. Stiles worried his brow as he lay on his back, his fingers tugging at Derek’s fur. “Are you sure you won’t be too cold?” Derek nudged Stiles with his nose, burying his muzzle in Stiles’ scarf. Stiles decided to move Adara between them as he turned towards Derek. Adara practically purred as she moved around until she got comfortable, happy to be warm between them. 

Stiles lazily dragged his fingers through Derek’s hair, his eyes open, watching him. “What about watch?” Stiles asked. Derek put his head up and looked around, letting Stiles know that he would take the first watch. Stiles eventually closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with the fire crackling and the feel of Derek breathing beside him. 

Stiles woke up to the wolf growling. Stiles opened his eyes to see Derek as the wolf, standing at attention, his head low, ears back as he snarled, his fur sticking up angrily as he looked off at something Stiles couldn’t see. Stiles sat up, not at all surprised to find the fire barely alive, embers glowing red and faint. 

“What is it?” Stiles asked in a whisper. Adara was awake, her fur on edge as well. 

“The smell is back, from before. Something has been following us,” Adara said, snapping her teeth. Stiles shuddered as he pulled out a knife as he quickly stoked the fire. If it was an animal, perhaps he would be afraid of fire. 

“Do you know what it is?” Stiles asked as he felt his heart hammering in his ears, his breathing becoming more erratic. Adara shook her head as Derek stopped growling long enough for Stiles to stand and put his fingers through his fur, his knife clasped tight with his free hand. Stiles heard the snap of twigs, something moving, coming towards them. Derek didn’t waste time charging out into the darkness. “No!” Stiles shouted as he watched Derek disappear from view. Stiles squinted his eyes, trying to look into the woods surrounding them. Stiles jumped when he heard another noise, coming from behind him. His eyes widened when he saw a person, along with their daemon, standing on the other side of the fire with his hands up in surrender. 

“I didn’t mean to startle, I saw the smoke, I was hoping to get warm,” the stranger said, lifting his eyebrows and biting his lower lip. Stiles eyed him suspiciously while Adara and the stranger’s daemon’s hissed at each other, untrusting. “Do you mind?” Stiles looked back towards the woods, looking for a sign of Derek. He was worried that he hadn’t come bounding back, hearing the voice of someone else. Something felt off. 

“How did you find us, again?” Stiles asked. He knew for a fact that the fire hadn’t been smoking when he woke up, and that he had just added wood to it to get it going once more. The stranger looked to his daemon, pointing at her. 

“Dianthe saw the smoke early in the night, we’ve been traveling towards it for hours.” Dianthe, a sparrow, had her wings spread as Adara growled at her. Stiles arched an eyebrow. “I’m Matt, by the way.” Matt smiled at Stiles, which Stiles got a weird feeling about. Something about the way his lips twisted upwards, about how his eyes seemed dead, didn’t have any feeling in them. Stiles wondered, briefly, how he looked to a stranger. 

“By all means, get warm,” Stiles offered, adding more wood to the pile. “Adara and I are leaving at dawn, though.” 

“Where are you headed?” Matt asked. Stiles supposed that it was a normal enough question, but under the circumstances Stiles didn’t want to divulge anything. He shrugged nonchalantly, nodding towards the incline. 

“Up.”

“Not anything up there, really.,” Matt said, rubbing his hands as he attempted to warm them by the fire. Stiles fidgeted, his gaze falling behind him where Derek disappeared to. He was on edge, worry creeping to the forefront of his mind as Matt made himself comfortable. Stiles sat down, despite wanting to run into the woods to find Derek. It was too quiet, and Adara was obviously not backing down when it came to Dianthe. Stiles urged her back towards him, pulling at her tail enough to get her attention. Adara bounded away from him, towards the direction that Derek went. Stiles tried to ignore the feeling in his gut as Adara pushed their distance. He knew she was trying to find Derek. Matt watched Adara, his head tilted to the side as if interested. 

“How far can she travel from you?” Matt asked. “Dianthe can go pretty far, with the flying, but she still can’t venture for the distances that the witches can, for instance.” Stiles tensed at the mention of the witches. He had never met one, but he heard stories. Stories about how their daemons were basically able to travel without them nearby at all, that when they were young they went through painful training in order to lengthen the distance that their daemons could go. Stiles shuddered thinking about it. 

“Adara can go a few yards, give or take,” Stiles muttered noncommittally. His skin was itching, he felt as though bugs were crawling all over him. His chest constricted as he thought, again, about Derek’s missing form. He policed his expression though, making sure that Matt didn’t realize that he was panicking, that he was afraid. “Dawn is still a few hours out-”

“Do you mind if I catch some sleep?” Matt asked. Stiles was taken aback. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping with the stranger so close to him, and the fact that Matt didn’t see Stiles as a threat and had no problem with sleeping around him. Stiles shook his head. 

“Go right ahead.”

Matt laid down close to the fire. As soon as his eyes were closed, Stiles turned his body so that he could watch the woods. Adara came back shaking her head as she crawled into his lap. Stiles glanced at Dianthe, not at all surprised to see that she was awake and staring at him. He couldn’t say a word without her overhearing him. He pet Adara’s head, trying to comfort her. She was shaking as Stiles held her close. Adara whimpered, which mirrored Stiles thoughts about the situation. As soon as dawn came, he was going in search of Derek, he had to. There was no way he was going to leave without Derek. 

As soon as the sun hit the horizon, Stiles started to pack his things. Matt stirred at the sound of Stiles rolling his pack. 

“Leaving already?” Matt asked. Stiles nodded, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, I want to make use of all the daylight I have. It doesn’t last as long this high up,” Stiles said as he grabbed his walking stick. 

“Mind if I join you?” Matt asked. “I’ve been traveling for a long time on my own-”

“No, sorry. I travel alone.” Matt didn’t look up at Stiles as he said it. 

“Well, I can understand that, I suppose,” Matt sighed as he stood. “Maybe I will run into you again sometime?” 

Stiles nodded. 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

Stiles walked towards the way Derek had gone hours before with Adara at his heels. As soon as they were out of earshot of Stiles, Adara whined. 

“He smelled of the odd stench, Stiles, I don’t trust him.” 

“Neither do I,” Stiles murmured, running his fingers over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sure what happened to Derek, he wouldn’t just leave us, would he?” Stiles asked. Adara shook her head. Despite knowing that Derek wouldn’t abandon them, Stiles still felt a pang of worry, of paranoia. There was no sign of him as far as Stiles could see. 

“What should we do?” Adara asked. Stiles shook his head, his shoulders sagging. 

“I don’t want to leave him.” Stiles knew that if he left the area, the chances of finding Derek were slim to none. “I don’t know, Addie.” Stiles’ voice cracked, letting his emotions bubble to the surface. Stiles heard a whimper, then turned his head towards the sound. Derek appeared, still in wolf form, limping. “Oh, Derek,” Stiles gasped, rushing forward, dropping to his knees. “You scared me.” 

Derek licked Stiles’ cheek once Stiles wrapped his arms around him. “Where were you all night?” Derek transformed in front of his eyes, wrapping his arms around Stiles. Derek was shivering, his lips cold as they brushed against Stiles’ neck. 

“We need to get out of here,” Derek urged, tugging on Stiles’ coat. “It isn’t safe.” 

“What happened?” Stiles asked as he helped Derek to his feet, then dug through his pack to find Derek’s clothes. He tried, in vain, to not think about how Derek was very, very naked before him. Now was not the time or the place for Stiles to want to finish their bond, but his body wasn’t listening to his brain. 

“Something attacked me, paralyzed me for hours. I couldn’t move, but I was awake. I knew what was happening, I heard Matt talking to you.” Stiles watched Derek pull on his clothes as he talked. “We need to get away from him, away from his smell.” 

“Addie said that Matt smelled of the thing that you caught the scent of down the mountain.”

“Exactly, they are together, whatever it is. And I want to get you as far away from them as possible.” Derek took Stiles’ hand and lead him further away from their camp, heading up the mountain. 

“How would something be able to paralyze you?” Stiles asked, unable to keep the fact that he was petrified from slipping out with his words. 

“It slashed me, I dropped almost immediately. Whatever it is, it is quick, and silent. It could have killed me.” 

They walked in silence, which allowed Stiles time to think about what had happened. Derek had been just out of sight the entire night while Matt had slept. What had been the point? If Matt wanted them separated, why not act while they were a part? Stiles was bewildered, and apparently it showed across his face because Derek squeezed his hand. 

“Hey, eyes ahead, mind clear, okay?” Derek said, his voice calming. “Don’t dwell.” 

“You sound like my father,” Stiles muttered, a hand scratching at the back of his neck as he sighed out his frustrations. “I didn’t like the vibe that came off of Matt, I didn’t like him.” 

“Good, because I didn’t like how he smelled,” Derek admitted. “I hope that was the last we will be seeing of him.”

Stiles nodded his head as they continued on. He wasn’t paying attention, walking a few steps behind Derek and Adara, when he smacked right into Derek’s back mid-stride. Derek’s hands were clenched at his sides while Adara hissed beside him. Stiles knew immediately who it was: Matt. 

“Funny running into you again,” Matt’s voice rang out as Stiles peaked out from behind Derek’s frame. “You know what is also funny? I swore that you were the only human in your bunch.” Stiles reached for his knife at his thigh, only to hear Matt tsk. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he called out. 

“And why not?” Stiles asked. 

“Because I was asked to bring you in alive, and I fully intend to do just that.” Stiles bristled as Derek spread his arms out, making sure Stiles stayed behind him. Stiles grit his teeth as Matt smiled. “But nothing was said about the changeling. So, he can go.” Stiles saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a giant lizard appeared, its claws dripping with some sort of slime. Stiles knew that they needed to run, fast, if they even had a chance of getting away. 

“Derek-” Stiles gasped just before Derek charged forward towards Matt. Stiles’ eyes widened as he watched Derek tackle him to the ground. 

“Run!” Derek called out. Stiles barely had the time to notice the cliff nearby, the drop off immediate and steep. He skid to a halt at the edge, looking over it. There was water below after a long drop. The creature, whatever it was, was quickly advancing on them. Within the blink of an eye Derek was standing in front of Stiles, blocking him from both Matt and the lizard. Derek reached behind him, pushing at Stiles just as the creature made a swing at Derek with its claws.   
Stiles watched Derek lurch forward, a hand reaching to where he was slashed. Derek turned his body enough to push Stiles back, away. 

Stiles, unable to catch his footing, fell over the edge, his hands outreached towards Derek in surprise. Adara let out a pained screech, then jumped over the edge, joining him in the drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it isn't every day that you get to write a cliffhanger with an ACTUAL CLIFF IN IT. (I really shouldn't be this excited about the fact that I did this, but I am.)
> 
> thank you, THANK YOU to those of you not only took the time/take the time to read this, but who comments, who recs, who does ANYTHING really, with not only this fic, but any of my fics. You have no idea how much it means to me. Thank you.


	10. Chapter 10

It felt like Stiles was floating. The fall itself felt long, like time had slowed down. Stiles could see the water below fast approaching as he grabbed Adara, pulling her close to his body. He looked upwards, watching Derek’s form become smaller and smaller as he fell. 

Stiles shut his eyes seconds before he hit the water feet first. He went under, holding his breath, his body screaming at the freezing temperature. He kicked his way back to the surface, gasping for air as soon as he felt air surrounding him instead of water. He opened his eyes, moaning at the sting of the water, his teeth already chattering as he looked upwards, searching. It didn’t take long for him to get his bearings, shuddering as he saw Derek fall over the edge. He definitely hadn’t jumped, that much Stiles knew. His heart sunk into his gut as he watched Derek speed down into the water, his body limp. He landed on his back, feet from where Stiles was treading water. Stiles, his eyes wide, waited for Derek to surface like he had. Seconds ticked by before Stiles began to panic. Derek wasn’t emerging from the depths of the murky water. 

“Addie get to shore,” Stiles gasped as he inhaled as much air as he could muster, letting his grip go from Adara. He had to get Derek. Stiles kicked as fast as he could, his hands reaching out in front of him blindly, trying to find Derek. He resurfaced, petrified that he hadn’t found him. He quickly gathered more air, filling his lungs as quickly as possible, then made his way back into the water. 

Stiles’ heart leapt when his fingers brushed fabric. He clenched onto it, then kicked back towards the surface. His fingers were freezing, his limbs becoming numb. He held onto Derek’s neck and arm, bringing his head above the water. Stiles spit out water he had started to inhale, coughing as he looked around. The water was choppy, without much current, which Stiles was grateful for. He needed to get to shore, quick. He felt himself becoming heavy, Derek weighing a ton. Stiles couldn’t swim well with his pack on and his coat. He could barely move in them as he held onto Derek. Shivering, Stiles had to decide what to do, quickly. Derek’s eyes were closed, and Stiles couldn’t tell if Derek was even breathing. 

“Derek, I’m going to drop you, just for a second. I won’t let you drown,” Stiles gasped, releasing his hold on Derek. He immediately shrugged off the pack, letting it fall into the abyss. The coat was harder to shed, waterlogged and stuck to his arm. Stiles struggled against it, cursing as he slipped under the water, letting it engulf him for a moment before he resurfaced. Once he was free he held his breath, then dove back under in order to retrieve Derek. It was easier to move, but Stiles could tell he wasn’t going to last much longer in the struggle. Stiles felt Derek’s hair, and yanked. He didn’t care, not when Derek had been under for so long. He pulled, eventually wrapping his arms around Derek’s torso as he kicked with everything he had. He got to the surface just in time. His head hurt, felt like it was exploding as he gasped for air. His lungs felt heavy, his limbs barely able to move. It felt his his body was locking up. Stiles frantically tried to head towards the shore. 

He went under, unable to keep above the water with the weight of Derek. He splashed, desperate to reach land. Stiles heard Adara howling for him, miserable that she was safe and he wasn’t. Stiles was helpless, yards from shore when he wasn’t able to keep it up any longer. His limbs numb, eyelids heavy, he let go of Derek and let the water take him. 

Stiles had the sound of rushing water flowing through his mind. His eardrums were pounding, and he could feel his heart beating slow, rhythmical and calming. His lips were parted as he breathed in painfully. It felt as though his lungs were ice, sharp, piercing pain brought him closer to consciousness. 

Only then did he feel the up and down movement of Adara breathing next to him. His limbs were heavy, too heavy to lift a hand to run his fingers through her fur. Stiles could barely move his lips, let alone a bigger body part. He swallowed, though, which to him, was an improvement. Stiles tried opening his eyes and barely lasted more than a second. It was blinding, the world around him. He whimpered, he heard himself do it. It was as though he didn’t have control of his body. 

He flinched when he felt the palm of someone touch his forehead. 

“He seems to be awake,” a female voice rang out. Her voice was a jumble in his mind, harsh and yet tranquil all at once. He was unsure of how it made sense, but it did. The hand disappeared. Stiles tried moving his arms again, and that was when he noticed that he had blankets covering him, holding him down. They were made of fur, soft to the touch, warm. Stiles shivered, gasping for a deeper breath. “Ready the bath again.” 

Stiles opened his eyes again, worried at the word ‘bath’. The woman who sat next to him on the bed was blonde, her hair wild and curly, her lips drawn in a small smile. “Hello,” she whispered. “We were worried about you.” Stiles’ breathing was erratic, uncontrolled. He panted, looking around for Derek, tears stinging his eyes. Derek hadn’t been breathing. He had dropped him, he had let go. Stiles tried to speak, but his throat was dry, on fire. He rasped gibberish, coughing as he struggled to get an arm free. “Boyd, help me, he is-” 

Next thing Stiles knew, he was being held down by two big, powerful arms. Boyd was huge and easily forced Stiles to lay still. 

“Calm down, we aren’t going to hurt you.” 

That was when Stiles realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Panic ripped through him as he struggled further. His markings, they had seen his markings. He had to get out, he had to run. 

“You almost died in the water, please stop,” the girl practically begged. “Don’t make me knock you out again.” Again? Stiles licked his lips, breathing loudly, swallowing again. She was holding something, water, Stiles hoped. “I’m going to give you some water, it is warm, so don’t be alarmed.” Stiles shuddered as the water touched his lips and slid down his throat. He was pretty sure that if it was any colder, he would have gone into shock. 

“Don’t-” was the first word out of Stiles’ mouth. It caught there, like he wasn’t able to finish his thought. Boyd released his hold over him, and Stiles visibly relaxed. Adara shifted beneath the covers were she had been sleeping against his torso, her head poking out from beneath the fur blankets. 

“Stiles,” she said, looking from Stiles to Boyd and the girl. “You’re awake.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles let out in a shuddering breath. He had a knot in his throat as he thought about Derek again. First Scott, and now Derek. 

“You’ve been asleep for days.” 

“Days?” Stiles asked, looking from Adara to the strangers that huddled around him. 

“Well, you had hypothermia, and you wouldn’t stop screaming. I had to drug you,” the girl said, her hand brushing across Stiles’ forehead, pushing at his hair. “I’m Erica, by the way, and this is Boyd.” 

“Stiles,” he whispered in return. Her smile was warm, inviting, as he said it. It made him tear up. He didn’t trust them, he couldn’t trust them, or anyone, ever again. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t allow himself that mistake ever again. 

“Oh, Stiles, don’t. You’re alright, now. Boyd is going to boil water for another bath, it will warm you up.” Stiles hadn’t even realized he was shaking, but he didn’t feel cold. He shimmied, allowing an arm to move. He brought his hand up to cover his face. He could feel warm, wet tears sliding down his face. His fingers were still freezing, discolored. They were bright red, as if the blood was rushing to his fingertips. “Don’t make me drug you again, Stiles. Don’t scream.” 

“Why did I scream?” Stiles asked, looking at her through bleary eyes. “Why would I scream?” Erica exchanged a look with Boyd, then sighed. 

“Because you thought we were going to kill you, and that we had killed your friend.” 

“My friend?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking. “Derek. I let go, I killed him-”

Stiles stopped mid-sentence because Erica was shaking her head at him. 

“We aren’t talking about him right now, you need to rest, you need strength. The bath will help, I am making a broth that will warm your stomach.” 

“No, I need him, it is my fault-” Erica was sighing as she grabbed something from a small table to the side of the bed. It was in a wooden bowl, whatever it was. It looked like a paste, which only made Stiles shut his mouth, refusing to open it. Erica tilted her head at him, as if she pitied him, before she applied it to his chest. 

Stiles felt like he was falling all over again, his eyelids heavy as he shook his head. He heard Adara whimpering, felt her tongue against his cheek, cleaning away his tears as he succumbed to his forced slumber. 

The next time Stiles awoke, he was wearing clothes, clean and new ones that were not his own. Adara was asleep on his stomach, above the fur blanket. He could hear a fire crackling nearby, as well as hushed voices. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he couldn’t help but feel calmed by them. He opened his eyes to find exactly what he thought he would: Adara curled up on his stomach, sleeping peacefully. Stiles’ hands were above the covers this time so he could pet her. His fingers no longer stung, and it no longer hurt to breathe. Stiles looked around the room, seeing that he was in what looked like the upstairs of a cabin, which he determined by the set of stairs that led down. He was surprised that there was a fireplace, with a fire burning, nearby, along with a tub, and a desk that was being used to store vials and papers on it. It was dark, judging by the window. It had frost covering it, which reminded him that he was in the mountains. He pushed himself up by the elbows, hissing as he moved his legs. He had been immobile for too long. Everything ached. 

Adara stirred, yawning as she slithered off of him and rolled onto her back, wanting a belly rub. 

“Don’t make them drug you again,” she whined. “I don’t like when they do that.” Stiles pursed his lips, his brow furrowed. 

“Why are they drugging me?” He asked, his fingers raking across the soft fur of her stomach. She stretched, her paws reaching towards Stiles’ toes. 

“Because you are scared. They are only trying to help.” Stiles shuddered at her words. He didn’t believe in anyone helping him anymore. He felt empty inside, burdened, and alone. Stiles sat up and covered his face with his hands, sighing. 

“I want to go home,” he rasped. His voice wasn’t working right, he felt light headed and nauseous. “But it’s not there, Addie. It’s gone. Scott’s gone, Dad-” Stiles’ breath hitched in his throat. He dropped his hand when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, blonde hair appearing. Erica was holding a tray of food. Her hair was in a bun, and her daemon, a raccoon, followed behind her. 

“I see you’re sitting up,” Erica said as she set the tray down in front of Stiles. “That is a good sign.” 

“How long was I out?” Stiles asked, biting his lip. 

“A day and a half, this time.” Stiles shut his eyes, not believing how long he had been here. “You are doing well, though. No lasting effects from your dive into the water.” Stiles opened his eyes to stop the visions of his fall from entering his mind, of the fear, the cold. The loss of Derek. Stiles looked down at the tray, his stomach growling at the sight of broth and fresh bread. “Why don’t you eat, and then we’ll see if you can come down stairs and join us?” Erica asked. Stiles looked at the stairs, then nodded. 

The faster he walked, the faster he could leave. 

He finished most of the broth, but couldn’t seem to stomach the bread. As Erica cleared the tray, Stiles caught the sight of a necklace she was wearing. It had runes on it that were similar to the ones on his back. His chest constricted, his eyes widened. 

“That-” he said, pointing at her necklace. She smiled at him, nodding. 

“We have a lot to talk about, but first you have to join me downstairs. He has been waiting for you.” 

Stiles’ heart rate picked up. His father? Had his father found him? Why hadn’t he come up to see him, then? Why wasn’t he by his side? Stiles pushed at the covers, relieved to see that he had on pants. They were not his own, though, and his knives were missing. He felt naked without them. 

“Your weapons are downstairs as well,” she called out as she walked towards the stairs. “Take your time coming down, don’t rush yourself.” 

Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes as he tossed his legs over the edge of the bed, positioning himself so that he could use his arms to push himself to his feet. Adara was waiting for him by the fire, close to the stairs. Stiles hissed as he stood. His feet tingled as if he was standing on pins and needles. 

He immediately sat back down, his fists clutching at his pants as he breathed out his mouth, frustrated. He looked to Adara, who was laying on the ground, watching him. 

“How bad is it?” She asked. Stiles gritted his teeth and tried again, not answering her. He made it a few steps before he had to hold onto the wall for balance. 

“It hurts, why does it hurt?” He asked her, his voice strained. 

“I don’t know,” Adara whispered. “But she said it would, maybe her magic-”

“Magic?” Stiles asked, his voice raising. “Is she- she’s a- she’s a witch?” Stiles hissed, his eyes widening. Adara nodded, her head lifting. Stiles didn’t want to go downstairs anymore, but he needed to get out. He looked around the room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. By the fireplace were a set of pokers. He wobbled over to them, picking one up. Adara growled.

“What are you doing?” She asked. “They spent days helping you.”

“They’re going to turn me over to the Magisterium,” Stiles berated. “They saw my back, Addie, I can’t stay here. I have to-”

“Stiles?” Erica called out from downstairs. Stiles covered his mouth with his free hand, holding the poker with the other. Erica appeared, looking down at the poker, then at the fire. “You’re standing well,” she smiled. Stiles gulped. 

What if it wasn’t his father downstairs, what if it was Chris Argent? Or Matt? Stiles shuddered. Either way, he was done for. They were going to turn him over. “What’s wrong?” She asked, worried. 

“Nothing,” Stiles said, clearing his throat. “It’s just that, I need something to lean on,” he lied through his teeth. Erica nodded, as if it made sense. 

“I’ll go get you a walking stick,” she said as she walked back down the stairs. Stiles didn’t let go of the poker. 

“Stiles-”

“Adara,” Stiles raged. “Do you want to be captured?”

“No, of course not,” Adara said, her ears lowering, pressing against her head in a whimper. “But Boyd-”

Erica reappeared with a walking stick for Stiles, holding it out for him, her other hand grasping for the poker. Stiles didn’t want to let go, but he did, begrudgingly. It was easier to walk with the stick, it didn’t put as much weight on him. When he got to the stairs, Erica put a hand on his arm, as if to help him. He shrugged it off. 

“I can do it,” he said childishly. She dropped her hand, walking down first, only a few steps, waiting for him. Stiles was unsteady, but managed to walk down slowly. 

Adara ran down the stairs as soon as Stiles’ feet touched the ground. She scurried over to the corner of the room, where two wolves were laying on bedding. Stiles couldn’t believe his eyes. Erica had her arms around him as he rushed forward too fast, tripping over himself trying to get to Derek. 

He knew those eyes, he knew that coat. Derek was alive. Adara crawled on top of him, pulling at his ear playfully as he licked at her. Stiles needed to sit down, he felt as though his heart was going to explode of his chest. 

“There, there,” Erica cooed, her fingers brushing over Stiles’ hair. “He’s alright, just weak, like you. You two needed rest.” Derek whined as if he wanted Stiles closer to him. “He’s in that form because he heals faster that way. Boyd is like him, a changeling.” Stiles gaped, his jaw hanging open. “You are safe here, Stiles. I have wards up, no one can find you here.” 

Boyd got off the bedding, moving towards Erica as Stiles stood once more. He practically fell onto the matting, his hands gripping tightly to Derek’s fur. He buried his face in it, curling his legs up, pushing himself closer to the wolf. 

“I thought you died,” Stiles dry sobbed, his hands brushing up and down Derek, scratching his ears and head. “I thought I let you die.” Derek licked his face affectionately. 

“You were so delirious when Boyd pulled you out of the water that I had to keep you asleep, you kept threatening to kill us,” Erica said, shrugging. “At first I tried to tell you he was okay, but you didn’t believe me.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, his face halfway buried against Derek’s fur. 

“Boyd and I decided we weren’t going to talk about him, because whatever we said...” Erica sighed. “Anyway, you two are getting better by the hour.”

“Thank you, for saving us,” Stiles whispered. Erica nodded her head. 

“Boyd just so happened to be gathering kindling and heard your daemon. He transformed, then dove into the water after you. Your daemon is the one that told him about Derek. If it wasn’t for her, he would still be in the water.” Stiles shuddered as he looked down at Adara who was snuggled up between the two of them. They were lucky, so lucky. “About your back-”

Stiles stiffened immediately. 

“Don’t worry,” Erica rushed out. “I know what you are, but I care not about the Magisterium or their need for truth. How they seek it is wrong, painful, and my wards will protect you from them as long as you remain here.” 

“There was a man, his name was Matt,” Stiles gulped as he sat up, his hands staying on Derek. “He attacked us, he had this... lizard. It was the size of a man, it could paralyze-”

“You ran into a Kanima,” Erica answered. “It is deadly, and whoever controls it is even deadlier.” 

“Derek must have been paralyzed when he fell over the edge of the cliff.” 

“They cannot find you here,” Erica reiterated. Stiles breathed easily. “Derek should be alright to walk in a few days’ time. He hit rocks when he fell, he broke his legs, which is why we made him this bed down here.” Stiles looked down, and sure enough, Derek’s legs were splinted. “His healing time is faster, but it isn’t immediate. He has been whimpering for you since he has been lucid. We had him drugged as well. He was worse than you were when he woke up.” Erica’s voice was fond, as if she was amused at the two of them. Stiles’ heart swelled at the thought of Derek being worried, of him looking for Stiles. 

“I wish I could talk to you,” Stiles whispered close to Derek’s ear, his nose nuzzling against his face. Derek huffed, nodding his head, then putting it in Stiles’ lap. 

“It is best if he remains a wolf.”

“I know,” Stiles sighed. “I will be patient.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fic [The Company I Keep](http://archiveofourown.org/works/553909/chapters/987428) has been nominated in the TW Fan Works Contest! To check out the other nominations (and to vote!) go [here!](https://sites.google.com/site/teenwolffwcontest/voting/sterek) Congrats to the other nominees! I feel honored to even be considered in the top five.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles walked slowly through the woods, keeping to a trail that Boyd had defined by how often he had used the path. Stiles was wrapped in a wool shawl, one of Erica’s, as he followed Adara and Derek. Derek, as the wolf, trotted out ahead of them, looking back every minute or so to make sure that Stiles was, in fact, following him. Stiles was tired already, but he needed to build his strength. He yearned to be back in the cabin, near the fireplace. Erica was teaching him how to crochet to pass the time. The shawl was warm, and Stiles was grateful for it since he lost Deaton’s coat in the water, along with his pack. There was snow on the ground, barely an inch, but still. Stiles kept blowing air out his mouth just to watch his breath appear like smoke as he walked. He was wearing mittens that he had made; his first project. He was thankful, because the yarn was thick, letting his body heat be trapped, keeping him warm. Erica had offered to make him a new hat and scarf, but Stiles had declined. 

His mother’s were all he wanted, all he needed. He was relieved when he saw them hanging over the fireplace, drying. He had thought that they were lost in the water along with the rest of their things, but Erica had dried them. 

“Time to go back,” Stiles called out. Derek sat back on his haunches, staring back at Stiles as if he had given up. Stiles sighed, refusing to take another step away from the cabin. “It’s cold, I’m tired, and dusk is approaching.” 

Derek had been able to move, to walk around, for little over a day. He shouldn’t be pushing himself because Stiles knew he was still just as weak as Stiles himself was, only Derek refused to say anything about it. Stiles had no problem saying he was in pain, or that he wasn’t ready to do something, not when he knew that Derek felt the exact same way. 

“Boyd took down a deer, you know you want some of that,” Stiles said, turning around and starting to head back. Adara ran past him, obviously ready to go back to the warmth of the cabin. Stiles smiled as he felt Derek rub up against him. Instinctively, Stiles grabbed hold of Derek’s fur as they walked. “Erica told me that she and Boyd have to go into town to get supplies tomorrow.” Derek huffed beside him, obviously adding to the conversation any way he could in the form he was in. Stiles bit his lip, nodding his head. “How are we going to repay...” Stiles stopped mid-sentence because of Derek’s sudden stop. 

He growled, his head low, lips pulled back as he showed his fangs. Stiles’ eyes darted around the woods that surrounded them, looking for movement. Derek quieted when Boyd came into view, in wolf form, carrying two rabbits. Stiles raised an eyebrow. 

“Going to make rabbit stew, Boyd?” Stiles asked with a grin as both he and Derek relaxed their posture. Boyd didn’t answer, but walked back the rest of the way with them. 

Once the cabin came into view, Stiles let out a sigh of relief. His nose was cold, giving him the sniffles, and it was just starting to snow. Adara pounced around, rolling in the snow, as she waited for Stiles to make it to the cabin’s porch. Stiles, as soon as he walked inside, sat down by the fire, on a stool that was low to the ground. Derek walked over to where a pair of clothes were laid on his makeshift bed, grabbed them with his teeth, then walked back out to the porch. Stiles flushed red, knowing that Derek was changing outside that they wouldn’t have the tension that happened every time that they were alone together. Stiles took off his mittens, his hat, and his scarf, hanging them over an iron rod to dry. He walked over to the doorway, taking off his boots and leaving them there before returning to his seat close to the warmth of the flames. 

Derek walked back in, wearing his pants, a long-sleeved linen undershirt, and one of the sweaters that Erica had made His feet were bare, which made Stiles smile to himself. Derek didn’t like boots, or socks, and generally hated having his feet covered. Derek sat down by Stiles on the wooden floor, leaning his body against Stiles’ thigh. Stiles looked down at his lap, his cheeks flushing as his fingers raked slowly through Derek’s hair at the nape of his neck as they stared at the fire. 

Boyd emerged from the back, where the kitchen area was, while Erica came down the stairs with her raccoon daemon, Smander, trailing behind her. 

“We are leaving before dawn,” she said as she sat down near the fire, joining them. “We’ll be back-”

“The next day by mid-day,” Stiles completed her sentence. “We know.”

“Stay within the wards,” Erica said, her voice firm. “One step out, and I won’t be able to protect you.” 

“We’ll stay put.” 

“You were just outside them, though,” Erica’s eyes narrowed. “Weren’t they, Boyd?” 

“Derek was in wolf form, they were fine,” Boyd called out, his voice strained as he was skinning the rabbits. Erica eyed both Derek and Stiles, her lips pursed. 

“Fine. When we return, the four of us will head up the mountain, no buts about it!” She said, pointing at Stiles who was about to interrupt her. “Boyd is strong, and I can safeguard you.” Stiles sighed, nodding his head. 

“Okay, okay.” 

Erica smiled, standing up and patting Stiles on the head as if he were a child. Stiles looked to Derek, the corner of his mouth turned upwards slightly. 

Erica and Boyd slept upstairs, in their bed. Apparently, Stiles had commandeered it while he was recovering, but now he was sleeping with Derek, on the matted bedding on the floor by the fireplace. It was stuffed with hay, covered in fabric, and it was better than sleeping on hard, packed dirt. They had a blanket, soft and crocheted, to cover up with. The bedding was more fit for a wolf, but Stiles curled up on it, snuggling against Derek, whose back was pressed to the wall of the cabin, with Adara between them. Derek had a hand on Stiles’ cheek, his thumb caressing his skin. It lulled Stiles to sleep, the slow yet circular motion. Stiles liked when Derek slept as a human best, because they held hands. Stiles liked linking their fingers together, even if it was lazily, barely touching. Skin contact made all the difference to him. 

Stiles barely stirred when Boyd and Erica left. The sun was up when he felt Derek move to stoke the fire, to add more wood to it. The room was cold, and Stiles missed Derek’s body heat as soon as he had gotten up, pulling Adara close to him, burying his face against her fur. Stiles didn’t get up until Derek had boiled water for tea. He had added goat’s milk to it, as well, which practically had Stiles grinning from ear to ear. 

“I like it here,” Stiles said as he blew on the hot mug, his hands cupped warmly around it. Derek nodded, gulping back whatever he was about to say. It made Stiles feel deprived, that he doubted he would ever have anything like this with Derek. He doubted that he would ever have anything that could be described as normal or safe. It made his heart heavy, his face fall. Derek shook his head, as if he realized what Stiles was thinking. 

“We will have our cabin, Stiles. Once we find your father, we will have it. I assure you.” 

Stiles felt better, but he knew that it probably wasn’t true. It wasn’t pessimistic, it was realistic. Before all of this, before he got separated from his father, they had never stayed in the same place long for a reason. His father knew what would happen if they found Stiles, and now they had scented him. They would stop at nothing until they had him in their grasp. 

Stiles shuddered, putting the mug down on the table that they were sitting at. Derek was heating oats and goat’s milk, waiting for it to soften and heat up before he served it. 

“Derek, about the bond-” Stiles began to say, but stopped by the way that Derek’s body stiffened. Stiles bit his lip, scratching at the back of his head. “I want it, I want to be bonded to you.” 

“Do you know what you are saying?” Derek asked, his shoulder tense, his voice shaking. “Do you really?” 

Stiles looked to Adara, whose tail was swishing back and forth lazily, happily at their feet. Stiles nodded, swallowing down how nervous he was at Derek’s tone. 

“I want you,” Stiles said, his eyebrow raised imploringly. Derek huffed out an uneasy breath, as if he had been holding it in. It staggered out, loud, breaking the silence between them. Derek’s lips were on his within the blink of an eye, his hands cupping Stiles’ face, keeping them pressed together. Stiles moaned, opening his mouth, inviting Derek in. 

When they broke apart, Derek’s teeth raked over Stiles’ lower lip, tugging on it lightly, as if he didn’t want to let go. Stiles’ hands gripped Derek’s wrists, not wanting him to drop his hold on Stiles. Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes, seeing that his pupils were blown. “Do you want me?” Stiles asked, already knowing the answer. Derek closed his eyes as Stiles leaned forward, capturing Derek in another kiss, slower this time, their lips catching lightly in short bursts as they moved their heads, unable to stop. Derek let out a deep groan, his hands dropping from Stiles’ face, grabbing hold of his thighs, bringing them up, pressing their bodies together. Stiles gasped, his hands on the edge of the table, holding on as Derek rutted against him, showing Stiles just how much he wanted him, needed him. Stiles tilted his head back, letting out a moan as Derek’s hand cupped him between his legs. Stiles’ toes curled, his body shook at the ripple that cascaded throughout his entire being. Derek stroked Stiles through the coarse fabric of his pants, shoving Stiles’ shirt out of the way so he could see the outline clearly. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as Derek began unlacing the front of his pants.

“Derek... Derek, the oatmeal,” Stiles laughed, his fingers clutching at Derek’s shirt. Derek, his eyes lidded, his mouth parted, looked to the bubbling food and practically groaned. 

He released Stiles, whose legs dropped to the ground, the stool he was sitting on rocked with the force of it, in order to take the pot of oatmeal away from the fireplace. When Derek turned back around, he looked at Adara, who was curled up on their bed mat, watching them. Derek bent over, petting her fur coat. 

“We’re going to go upstairs,” Derek murmured to her as she rolled over onto her back, wanting to be pet there instead. Stiles, his grip on the table loosened so that his elbows were what was holding him up, tilted his head back at the sensation of Derek touching Adara, of the link between them. His body shivered in pleasure, in the warmth that engulfed him. He felt dazed, buzzing with want for Derek. Stiles closed his eyes as he panted, licking his lips. 

Next thing he knew, Derek’s hands were on him, blazing hot to the touch. Derek’s lips brushed against his mouth, his cheek, his neck as Derek pulled Stiles too his feet. Stiles was incoherent, mumbling nonsense as Derek’s hand cupped his ass, his grip tightening on it for only a few seconds before releasing it in order to skim his fingers across Stiles’ bare stomach. 

Stiles hadn’t even realized that they had made it up the stairs, and that his shirts had been taken off of him. He was laying on the bed, fur beneath him, his fingers holding onto it for dear life as Derek pulled at his pants. Stiles’ entire body was flushed red as Derek discarded his clothes. Stiles’ mouth watered at the sight of him, hard and ready. Stiles canted his hips into the air unthinkingly his own erection smearing precome across his belly. His heartbeat was in his ears, he could feel it on his skin, along with Derek’s touch. Derek was hovering over him, not touching him and Stiles felt like he was about to explode. 

Stiles reached out, grabbing hold of Derek’s neck, pulling Derek down on top of him, their lips crashing together seamlessly as he spread his legs, allowing Derek to settle down between them. “The bond,” Stiles gasped, his lips pressed against the skin of Derek’s neck, not wanting to stop moving against him as they both canted their hips, friction between them growing. “Will we be marked?” 

Derek growled deep down in his chest, his fingers digging into Stiles’ thighs enough to leave bruises as he nodded his head, his eyes closed as Stiles’ teeth raked across his skin. Derek thrusted against Stiles, their erections rubbing against each other, making them both moan and gasp for air. 

“Yes,” he rasped, his voice like gravel, deeper than it normally was. “We will be marked.” Stiles bit his lip as his back arched, his hand sliding between their bodies, gripping both of them between his long, nimble fingers, stroking them. Derek buried his face in the nook of Stiles neck, breathing heavily against him as his hips moved along with Stiles’ ministrations. “I want to be inside you when we bond,” Derek let out as a plea. “Let me be inside you.” Stiles quivered beneath him, his head nodding repeatedly as if he couldn’t handle anymore words; he couldn’t string a sentence together any longer. 

Stiles let Derek flip him over onto his front and spread his legs, bringing Stiles up onto his knees while his chest remained pressed against the bed. Derek’s mouth was on his back, leaving a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses along his spine, his palms spread wide across the expanse of his back. Stiles whined, his knees spreading farther apart as he tucked his arms beneath him, his teeth catching on his thumb as he tried to peer back at Derek, embarrassed by how open he felt, how exposed. 

All of that floated away, though, as soon as Derek’s tongue swept across his opening, his hands spreading his cheeks wide. Stiles reached his hands out, grabbing at the fur blanket beneath him, pulling at it as he pushed back against Derek’s mouth, against his wet tongue. He could feel Derek grin against him as he breached him, lapping at his hole. Stiles, his mouth hanging open, keened forward as Derek pressed a finger inward. 

Derek took his time stretching him, pulling out just to press his face against him, lick and tease before opening him wider. Stiles concentrated on breathing, on the throbbing of his entire body, of Derek readying him for the bond. Stiles pressed back against Derek’s fingers, wanting more, wanting to be closer to him. Derek’s hands were warm against his skin, inviting, calming. 

When Derek was seemingly satisfied, having had three fingers in Stiles for what felt like years, he turned Stiles over onto his back. Stiles moaned, his fingers automatically wrapping around his cock, stroking. He was so close already, and he wasn’t sure how long he would even last. He and Derek both were covered in sweat, their chests heaving, bodies ready. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek as he bore down on him, entering him slowly. Stiles shut his eyes at the pressure, at the fullness of him. 

Derek’s mouth on his neck calmed him, reminded him to breathe. Stiles opened his mouth, his fingers raking down Derek’s back as he began rocking slowly in and out of Stiles. Stiles felt something building within him, something strong and explosive. He needed Derek to keep going, not to stop. Stiles grit his teeth, moaning as he arched his back. 

“I’m going to come,” Stiles managed to get out between gasps of air. Derek pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he grabbed Stiles hands, linking their fingers together. 

“Me too.” 

Stiles felt Derek fill him, felt the warmth. Stiles shuddered as he came, spilling across his own stomach in waves. Stiles pulled at Derek, wanting him closer. Pain seared throughout Stiles’ body, jolting him. He could hear Derek grunting, obviously feeling the same thing Stiles was. His hand burned, as if he had touched fire. It reminded him of his mother’s death, of her mark’s burning into his flesh. Only this had a hint of pleasure coursing through it, underneath the pain. 

It left as fast as it came, as if the burning hadn’t even been there in the first place. Derek pulled out of him, but didn’t move to get up. Stiles ached all over, except for his hand. Their fingers were still linked together, but Stiles knew that he had a new mark upon his body. He and Derek were bonded, their souls forever linked. Stiles smiled dreamily, his body exhausted, spent. He felt Derek’s nose against his neck, fingers in his hair, his tongue sliding over his skin, lapping at sweat droplets. Stiles hummed contentedly, closing his eyes. 

When he awoke, he found himself alone in bed. His body ached and he felt as though he needed a bath, a long warm bath. His body was sore, his muscles screaming at him as he stood, uneasy at first. There was water in the tub, and some boiling by the fire, which made Stiles smile to himself. Derek had obviously known that Stiles would want to clean himself off. Stiles emptied the boiling water into the basin, adding it to the cold that was already in there. 

It wasn’t until he was in the tub itself that he remembered about the bond, about the new mark. He lifted his hand, admiring it. It was on his palm, black and circular. It was nothing like the rest of his markings, which were red and more intricate than the simple knotted design that made his heart rate pick up just looking at it. He and Derek were now interwoven, connected. His fingers traced the knot slowly, not wanting to look away from it. 

He was brought out of his daydream when he realized that he needed to scrub down before the water got too cool to stay in. The water was barely luke warm as he reached for the soap and a rag, washing himself off. 

Stiles dried himself off quickly, his teeth chattering as he dressed himself. His feet padded down the stairs, his stomach growling for the oatmeal that Derek had been making earlier. The first thing that Stiles noticed as he reached the bottom of the stairs was that Derek, in his wolf form, was on the matted bed with Adara, his paw over her, pulling her close to him while he licked her, bathing her. Stiles’ brow furrowed, confused as to why he couldn’t feel it. Was it like when Derek had saved Adara that first time? How he couldn’t feel anything then? Derek’s wolf form was bonded with Adara, and his human form with Stiles? Stiles put the oatmeal over the fire, hooking it on a pole. 

He joined them on the mat, a hand on both of them. His marked hand rest on Derek’s head, his fingers digging into his fur as he kneeled. Adara licked at Stiles’ hand, nipping at his fingers playfully. 

“You slept for a long time,” she cooed, obviously ecstatic. 

“I was tired,” Stiles grinned, his eyes lidded as he recalled the reason why his body was sore and exhausted. Derek was looking up at him from where he ceased his licking, rolling over so that his stomach was exposed to Stiles, vulnerable. Stiles lifted an eyebrow, but scratched him, running his fingers up and down the wolf’s body. “You hungry?” He asked. Derek huffed, his head turning towards Adara, his tongue lapping at her muzzle. “You just can’t get enough, can you?” Stiles joked as he stood up. “Me? I am hungry, and want to see yours,” Stiles admitted, pointing to his own mark. Derek got up on all fours, padding over to Stiles and putting his nose in Stiles’ palm, licking it. Stiles laughed, pulling it away. “That tickles,” he teased. 

Derek transformed, then, right in front of him. He was on his knees, his hands on Stiles’ wrist. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat, because he would never be over what Derek looked like naked, all hard toned muscle and a half hard cock hanging between his legs. Stiles licked his lips, swallowing down a moan as Derek ran his stubble across Stiles’ upturned palm, his lips ghosting over the mark that bonded them. Stiles’ fingers wove themselves through Derek’s hair, his eyes closing as he felt Derek’s open mouth on his palm, his tongue lapping at it. Derek hummed in enthusiasm. 

Stiles wasn’t surprised when Derek tugged at his pants, wanting to free him from the confines of the fabric. Stiles grunted, his teeth raking over his lips, his fingers working at unlacing them, loosening them enough that Derek could pull them down his thighs. Derek’s hands slid up his thighs, underneath his shirt, his blunt nails raking down Stiles’ tender skin. Stiles hissed, his head tilting back as Derek slipped beneath the hem of his pants, forcing them down his thighs in an excruciatingly slow manner, his mouth on Stiles’ belly. Stiles, his mouth open and panting, had to widen his stance so that he could stay upright. 

Derek licked up Stiles’ length, his hands holding onto Stiles’ thighs, using them as leverage as he took Stiles’ cock into his mouth, his tongue teasing him. Stiles had one hand on his own shirt, holding it up against his upper torso while his other made its home in Derek’s hair, tugging at it at every movement. 

One of Derek’s hands slid down Stiles’ leg until it dropped to his own erection, wrapping a hand around himself as Stiles guided Derek’s movements by the hold he had on him, controlling the in and out of his own cock in Derek’s mouth, of the pace. The sounds that escaped Derek’s mouth were filthy, slurping, gasping and wet. Stiles could already feel himself tipping over the edge. 

Stiles let go of his shirt, reaching down for the hand that Derek had on his thigh, linking their fingers as Derek’s mouth engulfed him. Stiles shuddered, his hips jerking forward as he came, spilling down Derek’s throat. Derek took his time cleaning him, his mouth not pulling away from him, his tongue lavishing him slowly. Stiles shook as he pulled at Derek, bringing him to his feet. Stiles captured Derek’s lips with his, his fingers still in his hair, their fingers still interlocked. Derek grunted, his mouth opening for Stiles as he jerked himself off. Stiles gasped, his hand leaving Derek’s hair, sliding down his neck, his chest, his fingers trailing over the hairs leading down on Derek’s stomach, until he wrapped his fingers around Derek’s cock, stroking him. Derek let out a pained whine, his muscles contracting as his head thunked against Stiles’ shoulder, his lips played at his neck. 

“I want-” Stiles hissed as he dropped to his knees before Derek. His hand jacked Derek off as he looked up at him, his mouth parted in a heavy sigh before his tongue lapped at Derek’s head, licking lightly over it, then teased him by doing the same along his length. Derek pulled at Stiles’ hand, the one he was holding onto, bringing it up his side, to a nipple. Stiles took Derek into his mouth, closing his eyes as Derek’s hips canted forwards. Stiles could taste drops of precome as they slid down his throat. Derek was his, and he was Derek’s. The feel of Derek against his skin, in his mouth, made Stiles moan, tremble as he bobbed his head, made Derek lose control. 

Derek shook, letting out a cacophony of words that were jumbled, barely audible as Stiles felt Derek come. Stiles shut his eyes as he swallowed him down, choking slightly at the taste. Stiles sucked in a deep breath as he pulled away, wiping at his mouth with his arm. His lips were bright red, wet, and used. He felt dazed from his own climax, as well as from causing Derek’s. Derek brought Stiles up to his feet, cupping Stiles’ face with his hands, then kissed him. 

“I could get used to this,” he murmured against Stiles’ lips, a smile appearing. Stiles laughed, nodding his head. So could he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to point you guys to a few amazing fan arts that have popped up that go along with this fic!
> 
> [This](http://werefoxes.tumblr.com/post/41571857485/stiless-daemon-adara-with-derek-in-wolf-form) piece and [this one!](http://ucanhavemysoup.tumblr.com/image/39530526923) Hopefully the pages I linked you to, you are able to like/reblog them from. Tumblr has been weird for me since the change (urgh). 
> 
> I am so glad you guys seem to be enjoying Adara and wolf!Derek. Half of me wishes that I could write Adara forever :) 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for giving this fic a chance, for reading, for commenting, for SHOWING YOUR ART. Seriously, if you have done fanart for this fic? I would _love_ to see it. I basically flailed into a puddle of tears whenever I come across something! You guys are the best. :)


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles sat, listening to the crackle of the fire as Derek went outside, grabbing more logs to put by the fire so that they could dry enough to be used later. It had started snowing heavily, which worried Stiles about the return of Erica and Boyd, who were due back in a few hours time. 

Adara had taken to playing with the ball of yarn that Stiles was using for a blanket he was working on.He laughed as he watched her swat after it, pouncing across the room. 

“Stiles!” Derek called out, his voice faint. Stiles got up, rushing to the door, thinking that Derek needed him to open it to let him inside. What he wasn’t expecting was for Derek to be empty handed, his back facing the door as he stumbled in, slamming the door behind him. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, concern playing across his face. 

“Matt and that creature, the kanima. I could smell them, they’re nearby.” The hair on Stiles’ neck and arms stood on edge, goosebumps spread over his skin as his eyes widened. 

“They can’t get us, the wards-”

“What if they kill Boyd and Erica?” Derek asked, his fists clenched. “What if they burn the cabin down? With us in it? The ward only goes so far.”

“Stop, stop,” Stiles urged Derek as he closed his eyes. He needed to think. “How far off? Do you think they know where we are specifically?” Stiles was shaking, but not of fear. He was resentful of how they could take them down with one swipe of a claw, incensed that they had tracked them to the cabin, seething because Matt had disrupted their safehaven. 

“I caught the scent of the kanima from the wind, I’d know that stench anywhere,” Derek rumbled, obviously feeling the same way that Stiles did. He didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, like they were sitting ducks waiting to be found. 

“What should we do?” Stiles inquired, searching Derek’s facial expressions for an answer. Derek clenched his jaw, swallowed, then closed his eyes. 

The answer was clear enough: they had to meet Matt head on. 

“I refuse to be cornered,” Stiles spoke up. “I want us to be prepared.” 

“Then get ready,” Derek said. “Because they’re coming for you.” 

Stiles stood up straight, squaring his shoulders. He would meet them face to face, the ward between them, and attack. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be good at archery?” Stiles asked, a smile wavering, hope nowhere to be found. Derek shook his head, regret showing on his face. Stiles shrugged, sighing. “We’ll just have to find another way.”

Stiles dressed for warmth, knowing that the snow wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon. Stiles felt calm as he pulled on his hat and scarf, and a pair of tight fitting gloves. Derek was ready first, deciding on pulling the axe used to chop wood out of the stump as they walked outside as a weapon. Stiles liked it, it made Derek look threatening. He only hoped that Matt would think so too. 

He wasn’t at all surprised to find them waiting at the edge of the ward, on the trail. Stiles walked out in front of Derek, weaponless. Matt, too, seemingly had nothing on him, or on the kanima which was deadly enough, Stiles supposed. But it could do nothing to them where they stood. 

“I see you survived the fall,” Matt cajoled. Derek sneered while Stiles remained silent. He didn’t want to chat, not really. He just wanted to see Matt’s blood pooled in the newly fallen snow. “The Argents will be glad to hear it.” 

“Will they, really?” Stiles asked, tilting his head to the side. Matt smirked, his lips in a thin line. It made Stiles’ blood boil. “Why don’t you come and get me, if the Argents want me so badly?”

The kanima hissed at Stiles, but couldn’t take a step closer due to the barrier. Matt tsked, shaking his head. 

“Why don’t you and your pet dog stop hiding behind a spell and fight us fair and square?” 

“I don’t think that you have any say over what is fair, claws of doom lizard boy,” Stiles spat. “And he isn’t my pet.” 

“Could have fooled me, what with him standing behind you like he’s just waiting on your word to jump at me.” 

“There will be no jumping,” Stiles rolled his eyes. He took a step closer to the ward, knowing full well where it ended and began. As Stiles approached Matt licked his lips. It made Stiles’ skin crawl. There was no way this guy was getting his hands on him, not a chance. 

“No, I suppose not. You two already did that.” 

Stiles took another step forward, slipping a knife out of his thigh holster, spun with it in his hand, then threw it within the span of mere seconds, not nearly enough time for a reaction. Stiles’ boots slid across the snow, his hands on the ground from where he caught himself before he fell over the edge of the barrier. When he looked up, he saw that his knife had, indeed, hit home. 

Matt stood, his face betraying his shock at having Stiles’ knife embedded in his shoulder. He staggered back, holding a hand to the knife, about to pull it out. 

“Ah, ah. I wouldn’t if I were you,” Stiles said, shaking his head now, mimicking how Matt had just patronized him moments before. “It’s serrated. It will rip your flesh apart if you pull it out, you’ll bleed out,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging as he crossed his arms. Matt pulled anyway. Stiles didn’t even wince, despite the pained noise that Matt made. 

Beside him, the kanima wailed in anger, its claws dripping with the paralyzing serum. It tried, in vain, to cross the line once more. Stiles eyed Matt, ignoring the kanima. Matt was glaring at him, the bloodied knife in his hand. Stiles reached for his second knife, the one at his belt, readying it as he took another step towards the invisible line. Matt slashed the knife towards Stiles, but he had seen it coming and dodged it, but ended up slicing Matt’s wrist with his blade instead. Matt screamed, dropping the knife to the snow, blood dripping readily from his cut. 

“You think two knicks will make me fall?” Matt sneered. Stiles looked back at Derek, who was standing axe at the ready, his eyes on Matt, unwavering. 

“No, I think I slit your wrist and you are going to bleed out, slowly,” Stiles said, enunciating the word ‘slowly’ as he smiled. “Because you have no reason to be after me.” 

“Don’t lie to yourself, Stilinski.” Stiles’ eyes widened. It was Matt’s turn to grin, his eyes wide and crazy. Stiles didn’t know that the Argents had his full name. He had thought his dad was safe, that they were just tracking him. Matt saying his name made Stiles rush forward, unthinkingly. 

 

“Stiles, no!” Derek shouted, grabbing Stiles by the wrist, but it was too late. Stiles had walked over the line, the ward. The kanima moved faster than Derek could grab him and pull Stiles back to safety. Stiles didn’t feel anything, not really. It was a tiny nick on his finger, barely enough to draw blood. 

“Derek, I’m fine,” Stiles said as Derek shoved Stiles behind him. Stiles couldn’t move his finger, which was an odd sensation to him, in the midst of a battle. Stiles’ eyes widened, though, when he realized what it meant. “Derek, I was cut.” 

Derek turned his head, just for a moment, in time to see Stiles fall to the ground. Stiles fell face down into the snow uncomfortably. Panic gripped him because he couldn’t see, he couldn’t move, and he had freezing, wet snow plastered to his face. Adara was next to him, her teeth gripping onto his sweater, trying to roll him over so that he could see and breathe easier, but she wasn’t strong enough. Stiles heard Derek grunt, shuffling, then the swing of the axe. 

And then the swing of the axe.

Again, and again. Stiles almost screamed a short time later when arms grabbed him, hauling him up and out of the snow. Stiles coughed, his face numb from the snow. He wanted to run, to struggle against the strong hands that held onto him. In a panic, he thought that it was Matt, that the kanima had killed Derek, that he had died trying to keep Stiles safe. 

His desperation fell away when Derek spoke up. 

“Stiles, your heart. You need to calm down,” Derek urged him, his voice soothing as he somehow managed to pick Stiles up and carry him over his shoulder. Stiles watched as Adara followed behind. Stiles was able to see the carnage, the blood that was pooled around Matt. He could see the dropped axe, the decapitated kanima. Stiles’ nostrils flared as he tried to hold down bile. 

“Derek, put me down,” Stiles rasped. Either Derek wasn’t listening, or he wasn’t loud enough, because Derek kept walking towards the cabin. The farther they got, the less sick Stiles felt, but he could picture in his mind what happened. Derek swinging at the kanima first, from behind the ward, a clean swipe. Then he would have gone after Matt, repeatedly. “Derek,” Stiles managed to choke out. 

Derek heard that time. They were on the porch, just at the door, when Derek put Stiles down. It was awkward, because Stiles couldn’t control his limbs. Derek knelt down, a hand on Stiles’ back, helping him sit up as he held onto Stiles’ neck with the other, letting him lean against Derek’s chest. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asked. Stiles wanted to nod, but instead he let out a gurgled sob, unable to stop himself. 

He was tired of running, he was tired of fighting for his life, and he was sick of blood. He wanted a cabin in the woods that didn’t need a ward around it, he wanted his father to be safe, he wanted Scott to be alive. He wanted a life. 

With the markings on his back, though, he would never have the life he wanted. He was the Alethiometer. He was a piece of property to the Magisterium, and no one could be trusted. “Stiles,” Derek whispered, pulling Stiles closer to his face so that he could brush his lips against Stiles’ forehead. “Lets get you inside and in bed.” 

Stiles said nothing as Derek picked him up, this time more gently, one hand behind his back, the other hooked around his knees. Derek took Stiles upstairs and tucked him into the bed, pulling the furs over him, wiping his face of the remaining cold wetness. 

“You took a risk,” Derek said, his voice clipped. Like he was furious, furious at Stiles. Stiles gulped, because that was just about the only thing he could do. “You stepped over the ward.”

“I noticed,” Stiles joked. Derek was not amused, which made Stiles want to bury his head in the blankets. “I got him twice, didn’t I? I wanted to finish it.” 

“It’s finished now,” Derek said, defeated. “I’m going to go...clean up the mess.” 

With that Derek left him there, staring up at the ceiling. Adara climbed up onto the bed and sat within Stiles’ view. She was watching him silently, which wasn’t surprising. It took her awhile before she broke the silence. Stiles had closed his eyes, because he had come down from his adrenaline high, but he still couldn’t move a muscle. 

“If Derek hadn’t pulled you back, you would be dead.”

“I know,” Stiles answered, his lips barely moving. He felt like he was being chided, even though he had been the one to wound Matt. He had made a mistake, at the mention of his name. He had reacted without thinking. He was lucky that Derek’s reflexes were what they are. “Addie, my nose itches.” 

Adara scoffed, her paw bopping him on the nose. Stiles laughed, attempting a smile. Adara nuzzled against him, her nose against his cheek. He felt himself drifting off with her against him, her breathing lulling him to sleep. 

When he woke up Derek, as the wolf, was on the bed with him. Stiles felt warm, safe with Derek asleep next to him, Adara between them, her head hidden in Derek’s fur. Stiles attempted to wiggle his toes, seeing if he could. Surprisingly, they moved with ease. Stiles tried to sit up, which was harder than he wanted it to be. It felt like he weighed a lot more than he actually did, like he was being weighed down by something. He was leaning on his elbows, sweat breaking across his brow as he heard the front door open. Derek’s head lifted up immediately, his ears alert, twitching. Adara, too, came to attention. 

“Stiles? Derek?” Erica’s voice rang out. She sounded worried. Stiles remembered how much blood there had been.

“Up here,” he called out as loud as he could. Her footsteps filled the room as she climbed the stairs, her shoulders slumping with relief when she saw that they weren’t harmed. 

“What happened?” She asked. 

“Derek killed Matt and the kanima,” Stiles admitted. He told her the story, how he had cut Matt, how he had stupidly stepped over the ward, and how Derek had attacked. 

“The bodies are gone, but the snow is pink, I was afraid that Derek had been killed and you had been dragged off.” Stiles’ stomach turned. He was grateful that that was not the outcome.

“It will take more than that to capture me,” Stiles said, giving her a smile. Erica returned it, although it was small, sad. “How was town?” Stiles asked. “Did you guys find everything we need?” 

“We did,” Erica said, her smile widening, brighter now. “Just a few more days to ready ourselves, then we will travel up the mountain.” Erica looked down, her eyes widening when she saw Stiles’ palm. She reached for it, her fingers wrapping around Stiles’ wrist, tugging his hand towards her. Stiles made a noise as he was pulled forward. Derek growled, to which Stiles shushed him. He knew that Erica wasn’t going to hurt him, it just surprised him that Erica had been so forward in her inquiry of his new marking. 

“You two are bonded?” She asked, looking from Stiles to Derek. Derek put his head in Stiles’ lap as Stiles nodded, clearing his throat. The way Erica was looking at him confirmed the fact that it wasn’t an everyday occurrence, that it was rare. 

“We sealed it, yes,” Stiles stammered. “I’ve known for awhile that we would be bonded.”

“You know, then, what happens? What the consequences are?” Stiles looked to Derek at Erica’s words. Derek let out a pained groan, his paws on Stiles’ legs. Stiles’ eyebrows rose. He didn’t know anything about any consequences. Erica looked down at Derek, accusation playing across her face. “Human form, now.” 

Derek slipped off the bed, padding his feet across the hardwood floor as he walked to his pile of clothes. Stiles watched in silence as Derek transformed, then dressed quickly. 

“You didn’t tell him what would happen?” Erica asked, her hands on her hips. “Derek, he is the Ale-”

“I know what he is,” Derek spat. “And it doesn’t matter.” 

“What doesn’t matter?” Stiles asked looking between the two of them. “What are the consequences?” Erica eyed Derek. She wanted him to tell Stiles. Deep down, that was what Stiles wanted, too. He didn’t want Erica to say what Derek had been apparently keeping from him. “Derek, what consequences?” 

Derek stood there rubbing the nape of his neck as he looked at the floor. 

“The seal bonded us,” he started to say, then shook his head, his eyes closed. “When two people are bonded, when one dies...” Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, his head shaking. 

“Derek, you know I am going to die, right?” Stiles uttered, covering his mouth. Derek’s eyes shot up, narrowed and angry. 

“You aren’t going to die, Stiles,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “I won’t let that happen.” Stiles’ fists were clenched, along with his jaw. 

“You let yourself be sealed to me knowing I was being tracked? Knowing that I would rather die than be captured?” 

“You aren’t mad at me for keeping this from you in case I die?” Derek asked, surprise written across his face. Stiles blinked, shaking his head. It hadn’t even occurred to him. “It goes both ways.”

“I thought that it was just a soul bond-” 

“Stiles, our souls are bonded. Bonded to the point that if one soul dies, so will the other.” Stiles looked down at his hand, his fingers tracing over the knot. He bit his lip, sighing as he looked to Adara. 

“Addie, did you know?” He asked her. Her ears lowered, letting Stiles know that she had. Stiles rolled his eyes. “You have been keeping too many secrets.” 

“I thought you knew,” Adara snipped. “And I only kept the fact that Derek was your soul mate.”

“And the fact that when bonded if one of us dies, so does the other,” Stiles pointed out. 

“I wasn’t positive. It isn’t like someone told me about it, all I knew was that the bond was strong, that I could trust him. That his wolf was my...” Adara trailed off, burying her face against Stiles’ leg. Stiles couldn’t help but smile, his hand stroking the fur on her back as he looked up at Derek. His face fell, though. 

“You should have told me, Derek,” Stiles prompted. “I wouldn’t have-”

“You really wouldn’t have?” Derek asked. “You regret bonding?” Stiles swallowed back his words, shaking his head. 

“No,” he managed to say, his voice soft. “I don’t regret it.” He found his voice again, sure of what he was saying. “I don’t want you to die because of me.”

“I won’t.” 

“You can’t know that,” Stiles looked to Erica, who was still sitting beside him on the bed, silently watching them. “I don’t want him dying if I am taken. In fact, if I am taken, I want someone to kill me so I wouldn’t have to be their slave. I don’t want to be in pain for the rest of my life.” Stiles looked at Derek. “But now I can’t ask for that. Because that would mean Derek would die.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” Derek urged. “I thought you would be mad at me, for not telling you.” 

“I mean, I obviously would have rather found out beforehand,” Stiles griped. “But we just survived a kanima attack unscathed save for my body parts feeling like lead. I’m not mad, I am worried.” 

“But you weren’t bonded when we left the other day,” Erica pointed out, a sly smile appearing on her lips. “Do I need new furs on my bed?” Stiles laughed, Derek blushed. Erica rolled her eyes, sighing. “That’s alright. Not like Boyd and I haven’t-”

“Okay!” Stiles said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Now that we are clear on the whole bonding things,” he cleared his throat, pushing himself off the bed. “And that we got rid of Matt and the kanima, and that you and Boyd were able to gather supplies, the question is obviously: what is for dinner?” 

Dinner turned out to be a stew, which Stiles chopped the vegetables for. Boyd hummed as he added them, along with the meat. Stiles was still feeling heavy, weighed down, so he laid down on the mat by the fire, covered in the fur blanket that Erica gave him from her bed. Stiles laughed as she handed it to him, biting his lip sheepishly. 

While the stew cooked, Derek and Boyd went outside for a run together. Erica tapped her foot to a rhythm from her head as she crocheted. Stiles liked watching her because she was so fast, he could barely tell what she was actually doing. 

“When we leave, I am going to ask that you wear something around your neck for me,” Erica spoke, not looking up from her work. Stiles arched an eyebrow. 

“Like what?” 

“A hex bag,” she answered plainly. Stiles frowned. “Don’t worry, it isn’t actually a hex. I’ve been working on a ward spell that can travel with you, help in keeping you safe.” 

“Just like the one around the house?” Stiles asked. Erica shook her head. 

“No, not nearly as strong. This one will help mask your scent. Derek explained that another changeling has your scent.” 

“Yes, but we haven’t seen them in weeks now.”

“It doesn’t matter, this will mask your scent. It will also keep people from getting into your mind.”

Stiles sat up. 

“Getting into my mind?” Erica nodded. 

“I can’t do it, but other witches can, more powerful ones. Believe me, there are things that can be extracted. Like the fact that you are bonded, who your father is, who matters to you.” 

“I don’t want that,” Stiles shuddered. 

“That’s what the hex bag will be for. You just have to make sure you keep it on.” 

Stiles would most definitely be keeping the hex bag around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life sucks, you guys continue to be amazing. Thank you <3


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles scratched his neck, not liking the feel of the twine brushing against his skin, irritating it. On the piece of twine hung his hex bag, his saving grace as they made their way up the mountain. They had left at dawn, giving them an optimum amount of time for travel. 

Both Stiles and Erica rode on horseback as they travelled on a trail. Derek had been against using trails, whereas Erica fought for it. She called it “hiding in plain sight.” Hunters were looking for Stiles and Derek, not a male and female travelling on horseback. Derek and Boyd stalked in the woods surrounding them, just out of sight, to keep up a facade of Stiles and Erica travelling together. Adara and Erica’s racoon daemon, Sephus, both rode on the horses with them, along with their packs of supplies. 

Adara was seated in Stiles’ lap, between his legs, on the saddle. She didn’t like riding the horse, but Stiles didn’t want her far from him with the long journey. They were making good time, having the horses definitely had its advantages. Stiles’ legs were sore, though, his muscles moving along with the horse, keeping it on track. Erica was in the lead, humming as they trotted up the mountain. The trail was not steep, it would take longer this way, but it was safer and there would be places for them to rest, where others hadn’t done the same. 

It had Stiles on edge, being out in the open. He kept messing with the hex bag and itching at his neck. 

“Stop drawing attention to it,” she reprimanded. “You’ll have people suspicious. Put it under your sweater,” she called out. Stiles pursed his lips, doing just that. It wasn’t a heavy bag, but he felt a weight upon his shoulders as he wore it, as if its power could be felt. 

They didn’t stop for lunch until the sun was high in the sky. The horses had oats to munch on, along with some grazing while Erica, Stiles, Boyd, and Derek ate. Adara and Sephus took to playing, having been bored on the horses. Adara’s tail was wagging back and forth as she pounced around Sephus, playfully bounding away from him as he tried to catch her. 

Stiles took the break as a time to rest, laying across the ground, using Derek as a pillow. Derek and Boyd discussed before leaving that staying wolves for the duration of the journey would be wisest, so that they could scout ahead and remain sharp. Stiles wasn’t happy about it, if only for selfish reasons. The rise and fall of Derek’s furry body calmed Stiles, lulled him into a light sleep and much needed nap. When he awoke, Adara was laying on top of him, curled up on his chest. Erica was standing over him, her hands on her hips with a look on her face that let Stiles know that she had been trying to wake him. 

“Wha-?” Stiles asked, rubbing his eyes and pushing himself up off of Derek. Erica huffed. 

“We have miles yet before we stop for the night, before we reach the inn.” 

“An inn? Are you sure that is the best idea?” Stiles asked, eyebrows raised as he looked at both Derek and Boyd. Erica nodded. 

“Yes, I am sure. You and I will be safer in an inn.” Stiles’ fingers raked through Derek’s fur, his lip pushed outward in a pout. 

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Would you like to freeze?” Erica asked. Stiles shook his head. 

“What about Derek and Boyd?” 

“They will be on the lookout for the Argents, for Magisterium.” Stiles looked around at the ground. It was almost frozen, frosted over despite the sun high in the sky. A chill ran through Stiles as he thought about night with no fire for Boyd and Derek. Erica offered Stiles her hand, helping him to his feet. 

“Won’t they freeze?”

“They will cuddle,” Erica said with a small smile. “They will be of more use to us as guards than as lapdogs in the inn.” Derek growled at the term ‘lapdog’. Stiles couldn’t help but smirk at him. 

“Oh, alright,” Stiles said as he picked Adara up then climbed back onto his horse. “I suppose if we stay at an inn they’ll feed us.”

“I reckon so, if we make it in time for supper.” 

“Then let’s go!” Stiles laughed, his stomach growling as if he hadn’t just eaten before his nap. 

The inn itself was small, no more than ten rooms, only half full. Erica paid for one room with one bed. She wrapped an arm around Stiles, kissing his cheek lightly before the innkeeper showed them to their room. She handed over an extra coin, asking for the stable boy to look after their horses and to make sure that they were well fed. She spouted off a story about the long journey up the mountain to go see her family, who she hasn’t seen in years. The innkeeper nodded their head, not really caring. 

They ate downstairs at a table, picking one in the corner of the room, close by the large fireplace. Dinner was roast beef in gravy, with mashed up potatoes and peas. Stiles ate his so fast that he felt ill. The innkeeper’s wife looked at him adoringly as she refilled his glass with lager. 

“How long have you two been married?” She asked, looking between the two of them. Stiles almost spit out his drink. 

“Only just, early this year. In the spring! It was lovely,” Erica sighed, biting her lip coyly. The innkeeper’s wife smiled, nodded her head as if it was a lovely occurrence. Stiles downed the mug of lager. 

Once they were upstairs Stiles fell onto the bed face first. 

“Well, _darling_ ,” he mumbled, “would you like to wash up first?” Erica laughed outright, snickering as she poured water into the basin in the corner of the room. 

“How about you add some wood to the fire so we can stay warm.” Stiles groaned as he rolled off the bed to do just that. He then got out a bedroll to put by the fire. Erica raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing?” She asked. 

“I assumed that I was sleeping on the floor-”

“No, we can share the bed,” Erica waved a hand, uncaring. “We will stay warmer that way.” Stiles gulped, nodding his head as he sat back down on the bed and began taking his boots off. He stripped off his coat, his sweater, and his fingerless gloves. He put his knives and their holsters on the table by the bed, slipping the smallest one underneath his pillow so he wouldn’t be unarmed all night. 

When Erica was done cleaning herself, Stiles scrubbed his face, then fell back into the bed, his body rebelling against him for being horseback all day long. He knew he would feel worse in the morning, after he had time to sleep. Adara crawled up onto the bed, joining him and Erica, who slid beneath the covers next to him, with Sephus remaining at the foot of the bed, above the blanket. Stiles pulled Adara close, burying his face in her fur, wishing he had Derek’s warmth resting against him. 

Instead, Erica tossed and turned beside him until she got comfortable. 

“We’ll wake at dawn,” she whispered, her voice heavy with exhaustion. Stiles nodded, closing his eyes to the sound of her breathing evenly and the crackling of the fire. 

When Stiles woke up, the fire had gone out and by the look out the window, it was just before dawn. Stiles moaned in pain as he sat up, stretching his legs. He felt like he was going to be walking funny all day, or at least until they got on their way. Erica stirred beside him, yawning 

“You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep any longer,” Stiles admitted, running his fingers through his hair before he grabbed his hat. “I can’t stop thinking about my father. I hope he’s safe, I hope he got up the mountain.” 

“I’m sure he is waiting for you.” 

“I was delayed. What if he went on without me?” Stiles asked, running his fingers over his mother’s scarf. “What if something happened?” 

“You have to be optimistic, Stiles. There is no use in empty worries, they will only fill you with doubt. You cannot afford that, not with your journey.” Stiles sighed, nodding his head as he pulled on his boots. “We will be there within a day’s time.”

“Are you positive?” Stiles asked. Erica nodded her head, smiling. “Derek and I must have been close before Matt found us.”

“You were, I think. But the horses and the trail makes things easier.” 

They readied the horses and started off without sighting Derek or Boyd. Stiles had been against heading out without them, but Erica was positive that they were in hiding, keeping out of sight of the inn. 

She was right, because as soon as the inn was out of sight, Derek appeared in the brush ahead of them. Stiles relaxed, but Adara fidgeted in his lap. 

“What is it?” Stiles asked. 

“I want to run with them,” Adara said, looking up at him for permission. Stiles bit his lip, looking to Derek. He wasn’t moving, as if he was waiting for her. 

“Don’t go far, I don’t want to be sick,” Stiles choked out, his voice catching. He wanted to run with Derek as well. Adara butted her head against Stiles arm affectionately before she jumped down from the horse, running over to Derek. She bounced around him until he licked her muzzle. She rolled onto her back, her tail going crazy as Derek played with her. Stiles watched in silence. 

“You’re becoming stronger,” Erica said, pulling Stiles from his trance. He looked towards her, his brow furrowed. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. 

“I mean with you and your daemon, your bond has become stronger since we’ve met.” Stiles turned his head back, trying to catch sight of Derek and Adara. They had disappeared from his view, but he wasn’t worried, not really. There was a slight pulling in his gut at her distance, but it didn’t hurt him. “She can travel farther without you now.”

“Interesting,” Stiles mused. “Do you think it has to do with the soul bond?” He asked, looking down at his glove covered hand. 

“It might,” Erica said, shrugging. “If we had more time, I would test your endurance with her.”

“That does not sound pleasant,” Stiles admitted, shaking his head. Erica chuckled, then trotted off ahead of him, leaving Stiles to his own thoughts. This time he didn’t even have Adara’s company, which was rare. So rare that he missed her presence almost immediately. He was so used to having her by his side, that in her absence he felt like a part of him was missing. 

The day passed by slower than the last, with the wind picking up, chilling Stiles to the bone. He wrapped his scarf around his face so that it hid his nose and mouth, sparing them from the biting cold. There was no inn that night, but there was a fire. Stiles and Erica built it, gathering enough wood to keep them warm throughout the night. The four of them, plus Adara and Sephus, curled up together for warmth with a blanket over the top of them. 

Stiles buried his nose into Derek’s fur, breathing him in, his fingers tangled as well, not letting him go. 

The next day, the town came into view after lunch. Stiles basically flailed his arms around as soon as he saw stacks of smoke coming up from fireplaces, seeing the steeple of a church and guard outposts. 

“Calm,” Erica urged him. Stiles trotted faster, the thought of his father within the walls of the town at the forefront of his mind. He passed by Erica, who only shook her head with a small smile playing across his lips. 

The town itself was bigger than Stiles thought it would be. It had gates, along with a wall around it. Stiles hadn’t seen the likes of it before. He stopped before they reached the guarded gate, his face falling. How were Derek and Boyd to come in as wolves? Surely they wouldn’t be able to. 

“Slow down, we must stop first,” Erica chided. “We need to hand off packs for Derek and Boyd, so they can change and meet us inside.” Stiles thought that was a good idea, easing his horse to a stop, the gates still in view. Erica rode off to the side, just at the edge of the woods. She put down two packs, then climbed back onto her horse. It seemed as though she and Boyd had discussed what they would be doing before hand because as Stiles and Erica made their way towards the gates, both Derek and Boyd grabbed the packs with their teeth, disappearing into the brush. Adara came running up to Stiles’ horse, joining him as they approached the entrance. 

Two guards were by the entrance, but said nothing as they passed through. Stiles was wary, wondering why guards were stationed outside the city walls. As soon as they breached the stone wall, he realized why. They were suddenly immersed in a Magisterium centric town. Motor cars were mixed with horse-drawn carriages and trucks. Stiles’ back stiffened, his pallor changing as all of the blood drained from his face. He felt ill. He was walking right into an enemy encampment. 

“Relax,” Erica whispered beside him. “You look like you are about to be sick.”

“That’s no lie,” Stiles uttered between clenched teeth. “You bring me into a Magisterium based town?” He implored, his voice hushed but angry. 

“You need to settle down or you will cause a stir,” Erica said forcefully. “We don’t need to call attention to ourselves.” 

“My back will call plenty of attention to me!” Stiles hissed. 

“Oh?” Erica chided. “Were you planning on stripping right in the town square for all to see?” 

“Of course not,” Stiles spat. 

“Keep that hex bag around your neck and let me do the talking,” Erica ordered. Stiles glared at her, but remained silent. “We have to check into an inn first, and put the horses up.” Stiles grumbled to himself. He wanted to find his father. He knew that with a town full of Magisterium that his father would be just as uneasy as Stiles was. 

The inn was three times as big as the one that they had stayed at on the road up the mountain. Their room was nicer, cleaner, and even had a tub in it for bathing. Stiles wondered briefly how Erica had come across the coin, but he didn’t think it wise to ask. 

As they walked out of the inn, dropping off their things and their horses, they ran into Derek and Boyd, both clothed and grinning. Stiles smiled widely, wanting to wrap his arms around Derek. He refrained though. Instead, he bumped arms with them as they began walking. 

“We are looking for an apothecary,” Erica explained. “That is where the Alethiometrist is.”

“Which one, though?” Stiles asked. “Surely a town of this size would have many.” 

“We will have to search them all. We only have a name to go off of,” Derek supplied. 

“What name would that be?” Boyd asked. 

“Martin,” both Erica and Derek said at the same time. 

“We have a little over an hour before nightfall, I say we find her,” Boyd suggested, looking up and down the busy street. He started heading south, stopping a man packing up his cart full of wares for the night, and asked him if he knew of an apothecary named Martinl. As it turned out, he did. He gave Boyd directions, pointing this way and that, then went back to packing up his things. “Follow me, the shop is a few blocks away from here.”

Stiles couldn’t stop people watching as they walked. The way they dressed was different than he was used to seeing in sparse towns where he and his father always ended up staying. It felt like everyone was cleaner, that their clothes weren’t as well worn, or patched up. The streets were made of stone instead of dirt, wide enough to fit a motorcar on, as well as carts and carriages, and a walkway for those on foot. 

Stiles felt like he was in another world entirely. He walked close to Derek as Adara walked out in front of them. The people that were on the street still didn’t seem to pay them much mind, considering how dirty they were comparatively. People walked with their heads low, eyes to the ground, with their pace quick and unyielding. 

Stiles was lost in thought when he heard his name being called out. His head turned quickly towards the voice that he recognized so well. His eyes fell upon his father, standing across the road, shocked. 

“Dad!” Stiles shouted, moving towards his father without so much as thinking about the motor cars and carriages surrounding him. He ran out into the street, narrowly missing a motor car as he leapt into his father’s arms. His dad’s arms held onto him, a hand on his neck, another on his back, keeping him close. 

“Oh, Stiles. I was worried I’d never see you again,” his father said into his ear. Stiles heard Derek, Erica, and Boyd arrive beside them. “Who are these people?” His father’s voice was sturdy, questioning. Stiles buried his nose into his father’s coat, shaking his head. 

“Friends, they are friends. Don’t worry.” 

Stiles backed up, waving a hand at his friends. “Derek, Erica, Boyd, this is my father. Dad? These are my friends.” The Sheriff raised an eyebrow, but shook all of their hands. He had the right to be questioning, considering Stiles never had any friends besides Scott. 

“Where is Scott?” He asked. Stiles cleared his throat, frowning as he looked to Derek. 

“I lost him, dad. Weeks ago.” Stiles’ voice cracked as he rubbed the back of his neck, his face pained. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Stop,” the Sheriff said, interrupting Stiles’ self-deprecation. “It isn’t your fault. You know whose fault it is,” he whispered, looking around them. “Come on, let’s get to safety. Talking out in the open isn’t wise.” The Sheriff took off in the opposite direction that they had been headed, back towards the inn. 

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked. 

“I have a room at the inn, we can talk there.” 

“We have a room here too,” Erica spoke up. “Two, actually.” Stiles wanted to get his father alone and talk to him. He had so many questions to ask him, so many things he wanted to tell him now that they were finally face to face. Stiles walked next to his father and his daemon. He never thought he would say that he missed Laertes, but seeing the husky walking beside the Sheriff made Stiles relax. He felt safe, finally. 

When they made it back to the inn, everyone crowded into the Sheriff’s room. Erica, Boyd, and Derek all sat on the bed while Stiles and the Sheriff took seats at the small table. The three daemons sat by their humans on the floor silently. Everyone sat in silence for a minute, not knowing where to start. 

“How did you know where to come?” Stiles asked. “Did Deaton-”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “I came into town, and Deaton sought me out. He told me what happened, that you weren’t alone, to meet you here. But that was more than two weeks ago. I was beginning to think you would never arrive.” 

“We had a lot of complications,” Stiles admitted, sharing a look with Derek. “But we are here, finally. We need to find an apothecary, Martin.” 

“I found her,” his father replied. “I will take you there tomorrow, if that is what you want.” 

“Why wouldn’t I want to go there?” Stiles asked. His father looked from Stiles to his friends, then back again. 

“You know what she is, right?”

“Alethiometrist,” Stiles blurted out. His father’s back stiffened. “They know what I am,” he said, indicating Derek, Erica, and Boyd.

“And you trust them? No offense,” he said to the three of them. Erica cleared her throat. 

“Mr. Stilinski, Boyd and I saved your son and Derek from freezing to death, we brought them back from the dead, basically. If I were going to turn him over to the Magisterium, I wouldn’t have waited this long to do so.” 

“And I would never turn Stiles over,” Derek whispered, looking down at his hands, at the mark in his palm. 

“Dad, you know me, I don’t trust anyone who isn’t you. Or at least, I didn’t. I trust them, though.” 

“You shouldn’t be trusting _anyone_.” Stiles ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “And as far as the Alethiometrist is concerned, do you really want to be around one? Do you know what they do?” 

And there it was, his father bringing up the fact that they never really talked about his mother’s curse. Stiles picked at his fingernails, not looking up at the Sheriff. They trained all day together, when Stiles was younger. The Sheriff wanted Stiles to be able to take care of himself, but when it came to talking about why others were after him... well. That never happened.

“Yes, I know. I know because Deaton told me, and tried-”

“He tried?” His father bellowed, standing up. Stiles looked up at his dad, brow drawn together. 

“Yeah, he tried. I asked him to. I wanted to know what would happen, I was curious.”

“And?” 

“And I never want it to happen again,” Stiles admitted. 

“So now you want to go to a real Alethiometrist? Why?” Stiles’ brow furrowed as he frowned. 

“Deaton told me to come here,” he stated, looking to Derek. 

“And you trust Deaton?” His father asked. Stiles didn’t answer. He shook his head, closing his eyes. Did he trust Deaton? Deaton was where he met Derek, who Derek trusted, right? Stiles looked to Derek for an answer, but he knew wouldn’t be there. Deaton had lied to Stiles, Adara told him as much. Deaton knew he would hurt Stiles, but Stiles had trusted him. He told the Sheriff where to find Stiles, did that mean anything? Stiles tugged at his hair, groaning. 

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice hushed. He didn’t know who he should trust, now.


	14. Chapter 14

“I’d like to speak to my son, alone,” The Sheriff said as he stood up, making his way towards the door to open it for Erica, Boyd, and Derek. Stiles sat up straighter in his chair, his jaw dropping as he and Derek exchanged glances. “Please.” 

At the Sheriff’s tone the three of them got up and, all of them giving Stiles a look over their shoulders, walked out. As soon as the door closed, the Sheriff leaned against it, running his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Stiles what are you doing with a Witch and two changelings?” Stiles’ eyes widened as he shook his head. 

“How-”

“Don’t play me for a fool, son.” 

“I wasn’t!” Stiles spat out as he flailed his arms around. “How did you know about Erica?” He asked. 

“Hex bag around your neck,” his father supplied, pointing to the twine that was peeking out around his collar. “And she said she practically brought you back from the dead.” 

“She did,” Stiles supplied petulantly, his hand covering his chest where the bag hung. “And I know how you knew about Derek and Boyd, considering our family used to be guarded by them,” Stiles pointed out with a frown. 

“How did you know that?” The Sheriff asked, his voice hushed. Stiles scoffed. 

“Because it was Derek’s family,” he told his father. “His family were killed the same day mom died. It’s why they weren’t there.” The Sheriff looked at the door, as if he was thinking about going to get Derek. Stiles’ chest tightened at the thought of Derek waiting for him out in the hallway. Stiles clenched his fist, the one with the mark. 

“Dad, I trust them,” Stiles reiterated. “I know I shouldn’t, not really. But I do.”

“Don’t be a fool, Stiles. We can’t trust anyone but ourselves. Others will give you up.” 

“Deaton I don’t trust,” Stiles admitted. “Which is fair, he helped me, but he lied to me too. Erica and Boyd did a lot for Derek and me to get us here. We wouldn’t have made it without them.”

“And you wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t for Deaton. I wouldn’t have either. I was going to leave tomorrow if you didn’t show. I thought for sure he had told me wrong,” the Sheriff shook his head, his hands on his hips as he stood thinking. “We need to get out of here, out of sight. We need to disappear.” 

Stiles nodded, his fingers ringing together as he licked his lips. 

“With Derek.” 

“What?” His father asked, his brow furrowed. 

“Derek, he has to come with us. Erica and Boyd travelled with us so we would make it safely. But Derek, he is staying.” 

The Sheriff shook his head, his hand making a slashing motion, vetoing Stiles’ request. Stiles’ jaw clenched. 

“No, I will not-”

“I’m not leaving him,” Stiles interrupted, slamming his palm down onto the table. “Dad, I’m not a child.”

“I know you’re not-”

Stiles held out his hand, the one with the mark on it, not knowing how else to break the news to his father about not only the soul bond, but about what the mark itself meant, what he had done to get said mark. The Sheriff’s eyebrows shot up, his jaw dropped. 

“You’re bonded?” He asked, perplexed. Stiles nodded once, his lips pursed. “To Derek?” Again, Stiles nodded. 

The Sheriff sat down and closed his eyes. 

Stiles didn’t know what to do or say. He looked down at his palm, his thumb gliding over the mark. 

“Say something,” Stiles blurted out, feeling uneasy. The Sheriff looked up at him and Stiles was shocked to see that his father’s eyes were glassy.

“I am so glad you found someone,” he muttered, clearing his throat. Stiles bent over and wrapped his arms around his dad, hugging him tight, burying his face into his father’s shoulders. “I feel like you aren’t my little boy anymore, but you haven’t been him for a long, long time.” Stiles shut his eyes, his fists clenching around the fabric of his father’s coat, not wanting to let go. The Sheriff took Stiles’ face in his hands, bringing Stiles up so that he could face him. “He can come with us.”

“I love you, Dad,” Stiles murmured, sniffling back tears that were threatening to fall. A lot had happened so fast, when his dad left to go on patrol. Stiles hadn’t thought of himself as a child since the day his mother died, but he supposed that his father still saw him that way. “And I love Derek.” 

“I can see that,” the Sheriff said, taking Stiles’ hand in his, looking at the marking. “So he is a Hale, you said?” Stiles nodded his head. “And he survived the fire? I thought all of the Hale’s died.” 

“No, he and his sister survived, and an uncle, but the uncle has been brainwashed by the Magisterium.” Stiles told his father about The Argents, about Kate and Peter, about Matt and the Kanima. He told him about drowning, about almost freezing to death, about letting Derek go. He told his father about the cabin in the woods, how safe he had felt, how much he wanted a life like that, with Derek, with his father. 

“We can, son. We will,” the Sheriff told him. “But first, we have to decide what to do.” 

 

Stiles decided what he wanted was to crawl into bed with Derek, back in their room, after he and his dad called it a night with their talk. When Stiles walked into his and Derek’s room, with Adara in tow, Derek was sitting on the floor, by the fire, waiting for him. 

“So?” Derek asked, his shoulders hunched and hands in his lap as he looked up at Stiles as if he was about to tell him that they had to go their separate ways. Stiles smiled down at him, then decided to join him on the floor by sitting in his lap, straddling him. Derek’s eyes were wide as Stiles cupped his face, running his thumbs through Derek’s stubble before capturing Derek’s lips with his, his tongue sliding slowly against Derek’s, breathing him in. The kiss was short, but left Stiles breathless as he pulled away, his eyes searching Derek’s. 

“You’re coming with us,” Stiles said, clearing his throat as Derek’s hands wrapped around his torso, pulling him close. “I’m not leaving you.” 

“You told him?” Derek sounded surprised but happy. Stiles smiled, nodding his head in response, pressing his forehead against Derek’s. 

“He knows about the bond, about how you killed Matt and the Kanima to save me. He knows we’re marked.” 

Derek’s grip on Stiles’ tightened as Derek brushed his lips against Stiles’ brow, his cheek, his chin, his neck. Stiles tilted his head back, giving Derek access to his skin. He felt Derek’s tongue on his neck, licking up, then down again. Stiles moaned, his mouth parted, eyes closed, reveling in the feeling of Derek marking his skin with his mouth. Stiles slid a hand around Derek’s neck, holding him there as he ground his hips down, trying to find friction desperately as all of his blood flowed south. Derek growled, shifting them suddenly. 

Stiles found himself with his back pressed against the hardwood floors, his legs wrapped around Derek as he lay on top of him, his hands pushing at Stiles’ shirt, urging it off of him. Stiles squirmed beneath him, panting as he laughed, his own fingers attempting to rid Derek of his clothes as well. 

“Erica and Boyd are leaving in the morning,” Derek said between shedding his shirt and kissing Stiles again, his palm rubbing over the cloth of Stiles’ pants, fingers weaving into the thread holding them together over his crotch. Stiles groaned, licking his lips as he canted his hips upwards at Derek’s touch. Derek tugged on the string, then pushed at Stiles’ pants, forcing them down his thighs, freeing him from the confines of the fabric. 

“We’re going to visit the apothecary in the morning,” Stiles gasped as Derek’s hand wrapped around his length. Stiles reached out, grabbing Derek’s hip, urging him to shift closer. “These need to come off,” Stiles whined, his voice dripping with need as he tugged on Derek’s pants, his fingers ghosting over his bulge. 

Derek rid himself of his pants as fast as he could while Stiles pushed his pants the rest of the way down his legs, kicking them to the side. Once they were both naked, Stiles ran his fingers over Derek’s bare chest, then wrapped his fingers around his erection, stroking him slowly. Derek grunted, kneeling closer to Stiles’ chest then his stomach so Stiles could sit up, pushing up on an elbow in order to take Derek into his mouth. 

Stiles moaned at the taste of him as Derek ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair as he watched Stiles take his cock into his mouth, licking at him, teasing him. Stiles looked up, watching Derek rake his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes drifting over Stiles’ body. Derek let out a choked sob as Stiles felt Derek hit the back of his throat, his hips rolling forwards slightly, forcing himself further down Stiles’ throat. Stiles pulled back, coughing as he gasped for breath, falling back onto the floor as he wiped his mouth. 

“Sorry,” Derek said as he slid a thumb over Stiles’ wet, reddened lips. Stiles nipped at his thumb playfully, shrugging as he cracked a smile. 

“Blow me?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow. Derek chuckled as his fingers trailed down Stiles’ chest, running through the line of coarse hair that let from his belly button down to his erection. Stiles let out a stuttering sigh as Derek teased his head with his lips, pressing open mouthed kisses along his length, his tongue teasing. Stiles’ toes curled once Derek’s warm, wet mouth was around him, sucking and lapping. 

Open mouthed, Stiles licked his lips, urging Derek to hover over him by maneuvering his legs, his hands gripping onto Derek’s thighs. Derek moved without stopping his ministrations, his knees straddling Stiles’ head, his cock hanging between his legs, dripping with precome. Stiles, his tongue sticking out of his mouth, licked it up as his fingers wrapped around Derek’s shaft. Derek grunted, his own hands on Stiles’ hips, keeping him from canting them upwards as he mouthed him, bobbing his head up and down, his tongue driving Stiles wild. 

Stiles moaned as he felt his own cock hit the back of Derek’s throat, the tightness making his legs spread wide as he tried to fuck up into Derek’s mouth. Derek continued to hold him down, controlling his own pacing as his mouth drove Stiles mad. Stiles took Derek into his own mouth, sucking on his head as his hands gripped Derek’s ass, making his legs slide, spread wider so that Stiles could lay down and still have his mouth wrapped around him. Stiles breathed through his nose as Derek rolled his hips, pressing downwards, fucking Stiles’ mouth slowly. Stiles let him thrust shallowly into his mouth. 

Stiles tapped his hand against Derek’s thigh when he needed air, panting as Derek rolled off of him, his mouth moving off of Stiles with a pop as Derek sat, wiping at his mouth, his own chest heaving. 

Stiles lay there, lips parted, breathing as he watched Derek. His mouth was swollen, red, and wet. Stiles smiled, his hand reaching out for Derek’s. Derek slipped his fingers into Stiles’ hand, pulling Stiles close to him, hauling him off of the floor. 

Derek practically dragged Stiles onto the bed, laying down next to him, their legs tangling, mouths finding one another as Derek’s hand reached between them, wrapping around both of them. Stiles whimpered into Derek’s mouth, his mouth open as he gasped for air, fucking up into Derek’s fist, his ankles hooked around Derek’s for leverage. Stiles cupped Derek’s face in his hands, his fingers raking through Derek’s hair as he shuddered, coming onto Derek’s stomach. 

“Ah,” Stiles said, burying his face against Derek’s shoulder. “Fuck.” Derek continued stroking them both together, fucking up into his own fist, his own mouth back on Stiles’ neck, leaving further evidence that Stiles was his, there. Stiles was oversensitized, shaking as Derek came, adding his own mess to Stiles’. 

“That was-” Derek started to say, but didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he kissed Stiles, bringing their bodies closer together, smearing their sticky come across Stiles’ stomach, as well as Derek’s. Stiles rocked into his body, loving how close they could be without fear. He wanted to stay with Derek like this, safe and warm. 

Maybe one day he could think about it being possible, but not until they were safely out of the Magisterium filled town. Stiles pushed himself away from Derek, off the bed, in order to grab a rag to wipe themselves clean. 

Once they climbed back into bed, Adara joined them, pawing her way between them, making herself comfortable. Derek pulled her close to him, his fingers kneading through her fur slowly, his face pressed against her muzzle, his nose brushing against her. Stiles watched them, his body buzzing at the contact, his eyes lulling closed with contentment.

The next morning, after a restless night of sleep on Stiles’ end, they bid Erica and Boyd farewell on their two horses. Erica kissed Stiles on the cheek, reminding him to keep the hex bag around his neck. Stiles patted it where it lay beneath his clothes, against his chest, nodding his head. Boyd said a silent goodbye, nodding his head at both Derek and Stiles before heading down the road amidst the carriages and motor cars. 

They ate breakfast at a bakery, fresh croissants and tea. It was a treat that Stiles wasn’t used to having, with he and his father rarely eating out in a town together. Adara stayed close to Derek as they walked, which wasn’t at all surprising to Stiles, who walked side by side with his father and Laertes down the stone walkway. 

As Stiles saw the sign of an apothecary up ahead he turned his head, looking back at Derek, whose eyes were trained on Stiles, concern written across his face. Stiles tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it was difficult when his own stomach was tumbling around with uncertainty. 

The Sheriff was the first to enter the small shop, barely big enough to hold three grown men. Most of the shop seemed to be behind the counter that stood before them, where a young girl stood, her eyebrow arched warily, her red hair cascading down her shoulders in curls. 

“Can I help you?” She asked, her voice kind yet distant. She had her hands folded together, resting on the countertop with her head tilted slightly, her gaze falling on Stiles for only a second. Instinctively, Stiles scratched his neck where the twine that held the hex bag peeked out at the collar of his jacket. 

“We’re here to speak with the apothecary, Martin,” the Sheriff said, looking over the girl’s shoulder, trying to see in the back room. The young girl smiled, her head tilting even more as if she was amused. 

“I am Lydia Martin,” she confided, “what can I do for you, _Sheriff_ ,” she said, indicating Stiles’ father’s coat with the insignia on it, signifying his station. Stiles stepped forward, clearing his throat. 

“Are you, or are you not, also Lydia Martin, the Alethiometrist?” The Sheriff stiffened beside him, but Stiles didn’t care, he wasn’t tiptoeing around this. He wanted to meet the Alethiometrist, then leave. He wanted his freedom, he wanted his cabin in the woods with Derek and his father. 

Lydia’s daemon, a black panther, hissed from where it sat perched atop a stool behind her. She eyed Stiles, looking him up and down as she reached back, stroking the panther’s head. Stiles watched her, his jaw clenching. Her eyes cast towards Derek, giving him the same once over. 

“Where is your daemon?” She asked him. Derek’s nostrils flared, his lips pursed in a non-answer. She hummed in amusement as she looked back at Stiles.

“Why should I tell you where the Alethiometrist is?” She asked, crossing her arms. Stiles’ shoulders slumped. 

“So you aren’t the Alethiometrist, then?”

“How do you even know that word?” She countered. Stiles grit his teeth, clutching at the hex bag. Lydia watched him do it, a smirk appeared as the smile disappeared. 

“You came?” She questioned, her voice dropping, as well as her hands. “You found me?” Her tone was completely different. She sounded almost relieved as she came around the counter, her hands reached out for his wrists. Stiles didn’t react fast enough before she pulled back his cuffs, revealing his markings. Stiles yanked his hand back, but it was too late: she saw them. 

She let out a gasp, her eyes wide as she looked up at him. 

“Come to the back, please,” she urged him, her fingers interlacing with his easily, as if they were always meant to guide him. Stiles felt himself relax as she looked to his father and to Derek. 

They passed by her daemon easily enough, but as soon as his dad and Derek took a step towards the back room, the panther growled. Stiles immediately stopped, taking his hand away from Lydia’s. 

“They have to come too,” Stiles told her, his voice firm. Lydia bit her lip, like it would be a terrible inconvenience. 

“Lycaon, let them by,” she said, smiling up at Stiles before taking his hand once more. Adara hissed at the panther as she passed, keeping close to Derek. Stiles felt the same way she did, uneasy about how Lycaon treated them. The panther joined them as they entered the back room, which was mostly stock, but had a table in the middle, much like Deaton’s place had. Stiles gulped, feeling exposed. 

“What is your name, Alethiometer?” She asked, her head tilting to the side once more, as if contemplating his existence. Stiles cleared his throat, looking to his father, who shook his head once. 

“You can call me Stiles,” he answered curtly. 

“Alright, Stiles,” she practically cooed as her hands slid up his arms, revealing more of his markings. “Do you mind if I take a look?” Stiles swallowed his unease, nodding his head once. He knew that she would want to see them, to touch them as Deaton had. He had been prepared. He took a step back from her, then slowly took off his coat, then his scarf, his sweater that Erica had made him, then finally his linen shirt. His cheeks were red as he felt Lydia’s gaze on him as she walked around him slowly, her finger lightly tracing the markings. “You are beautiful,” she whispered. It made Stiles shiver. 

He could practically sense his father’s unease and Derek’s boiling anger at Stiles being touched by someone else. Stiles kept his fist clenched, keeping his bond personal, not public information. Lydia eventually came back to stand in front of him, her eyes on the hex bag that hung from his neck. 

“Are you a witch as well?” She asked, genuinely intrigued. Stiles shook his head. “Then where is your witch?” 

“She wasn’t my witch,” Stiles said defensively. Lydia pouted. 

“But you have a changeling,” she referenced Derek. Stiles practically growled at her. Lydia faked a gasp, her mouth open for only a moment before it turned into a smile. “Okay, Stiles,” she sighed. “I understand, we all have our secrets. Now tell me, why seek me out.”

“Deaton told me where to find you,” Stiles told her, grabbing for his shirt. He felt naked in front of her like this. Lydia, stopped him, covering his hand with hers. 

“Alan Deaton is a friend,” she said soothingly, as if that would be relief to Stiles’ ears. It wasn’t. Lydia slid her hand from Stiles’, then decided to play with the twine around his neck. Stiles pushed at her hands, but she wouldn’t be deterred. “You walked into a Magisterium base to find me?” 

“Yes,” Stiles admitted. Lydia’s eyebrows drew together as she wrapped her fingers around the hex bag. 

“Why? Do you want me to take a reading from you?” She asked, her lips dangerously close to his. Stiles stiffened, his head shaking as Derek stepped forward. 

“We were told you would know where he could hide.” 

Lydia looked over to Derek as if she forgot that he was even there. Then her eyes fell to Stiles’ neck, the dark bruises that Derek left behind were plain as day against his pale skin. She smirked at Derek. 

“Hiding in plain sight, sounds like a witch’s idea,” a voice called out from behind a curtain. A woman, with dark skin and straight black hair walked into the room, her arms crossed and an eyebrow arched upwards. Stiles tensed, grabbing his shirt. The stranger tsked at him, rolling her eyes. “No need for that,” she said, her voice commanding, yet gentle. 

“This is my witch,” Lydia said, by way of introduction. “This is Morrell.” 

Morrell gave Stiles a smile, but he wasn’t comforted by it in the slightest. She took a look at his hex bag, but didn’t touch it. 

“Only you are wearing one?” She asked him. Stiles looked to Derek and his father, his stomach sinking. “That isn’t very safe, now is it?” 

“We weren’t planning on staying,” Stiles said as he pulled on his linen shirt. “I’ve seen enough.” Stiles stopped when Lydia’s hand stilled on his chest, her face suddenly stoic. 

“But you just got here.”

Stiles backed up towards Derek, his hand finding his, their fingers interlocking. 

“We’re going to go now,” the Sheriff spoke up. Lydia frowned, but shrugged. 

“I thought you wanted to know where to go that would be safe.” Stiles’ heart stopped for a second at her words. He did want to know where would be safe. He wanted to be done with all of this. 

“Where?” Stiles asked. Lydia rolled her eyes as if it was obvious. 

“Well, Stiles. I don’t know.” Stiles gnashed his teeth at her flippancy. “But...” she trailed off, which was irritating. Lydia sighed, somewhat dramatically. “I could, you know, ask you as the Alethiometer.” Stiles raised his eyebrows at that. 

“Stiles, no.” Both his father and Derek said at the same time. “Don’t,” Derek added afterwards, squeezing Stiles’ hand. “Remember the pain.”

“Ah, the pain,” Lydia said, nodding her head. “Did Deaton try it on you?” She asked. Stiles shrugged. “Because he isn’t an Alethiometrist.”

“Are you telling my son that it shouldn’t hurt? Because that is a flat out lie,” the Sheriff said, the anger that erupted from his voice startled Stiles. “Do not lie to us when it comes to the pain.” Stiles was grateful for his father in that moment, because apparently his defenses were down because he had been about to believe Lydia. 

Lydia crossed her arms, her jaw set tight. Beside her Lycaon growled, hunched over. Adara was on all fours, her tail angrily swishing, her fur standing on end as she showed her teeth, snapping them a few times. 

“I can’t make it painless, Stiles. But I can help with the pain,” Lydia said, eyeing Adara as she walked to one of the shelves in the room, taking down a jar and setting down in front of her on a table. Stiles eyed it suspiciously, taking a step forward, his hand still in Derek’s. 

“How?” Stiles asked, his gaze moving over to Morrell, who joined Lydia by the table. “What is it?” 

Lydia opened the jar, revealing a fine purple powder-like substance. Derek pulled Stiles back from it. 

“This? It will help numb the pain,” she said, sifting her fingers through it, picking some up into her palm. “Do you trust me?” Stiles scoffed.

“No.”

Morrell rolled her eyes. 

“Then leave, but if you want a real, true answer about where you could be safe, this would be the way to find out.” Stiles turned towards Derek, dropping his hand as he leaned in, and kissed him on lightly on the lips. 

Stiles’ heart was beating in his throat as he removed his linen shirt once more, readying himself for the pain he knew would come, despite whatever Lydia said. She walked up to him, wet her lips as she held out her hand, palm up and extended. 

“Just breathe,” she whispered to him. Stiles took a deep breath, then let it out. As he was about to inhale again, Lydia blew the purple powder into Stiles’ face. 

Stiles breathed it in, and immediately felt its effects. He swayed, taking a step towards Derek, who shouted, but Stiles couldn’t make out anything. 

The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was seeing Derek scooping Adara up off of the floor and holding her in his arms.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter! Batten down the hatches, guys.

Stiles woke up to the sound of Adara whimpering near him. He thought he would feel her tongue on his cheek, or her nose press against his skin, but he didn’t. He tried to stretch, but he couldn’t. His legs were pushed up against his chest and his hands were behind his back, pulling tight at his shoulders, which ached from the strain. Stiles opened his eyes to blackness, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he realized that he was in some sort of box, barely big enough to fit him. He felt the wall of it with a hand, his restraints digging into the flesh of his wrists as he moved them. 

“Addie?” Stiles called out, his voice cracking. Stiles cleared his throat, licked his lips, then tried again. “Addie where are you?” He could hear Adara scratching and whining outside of the box, but nearby. Stiles could feel his heart beating heavily in his chest as he tried to recall what got him in this position. 

All he could remember was Lydia and the purple powder, his father’s screams and Derek holding onto Adara. Stiles grit his teeth as he tried to stretch again, but the box was solid. He kicked at it in the dark, wanting out. He didn’t like enclosed spaces, and he didn’t care if they knew he was awake or not. Unsurprisingly, he heard whispering and shuffling, then suddenly bright daylight flooded the tiny box, causing Stiles to close his eyes, curling in on himself as best he could. 

“Awake, are we?” It was Morrell’s voice, sickeningly sweet. “It took you long enough.” Stiles looked up at her through squinted eyes. It was then that he realized they were moving, that they were in a carriage. The so called box he was in was actually the seat. 

“Let me out,” Stiles demanded. Morrell tsked at him, which grated on Stiles’ nerves. 

“No,” she said simply as she looked to her daemon, a snake. “You are staying out of sight.” 

“I can’t feel my hands,” Stiles supplied. Morrell bent over, grabbing him, shifting him in the box so that she could see his hands. 

“They’re fine,” she said as she shoved him back to how he had been situated. “We will be in a motor car soon, so you can wait.” Stiles peeked out of the box, where he saw Lydia sitting across from him on the bench with her daemon, and Adara who was in a cage with a muzzle around her snout. Stiles glared at Lydia, who only sighed as she frowned at him. 

Without another word, Morrell closed the box, leaving him trapped in darkness once more. He heard scraping, possibly Morrell moving the cage back onto the bench Stiles was beneath. He tried not to think about what was happening, about wondering where his father was, if Derek was even alive. 

After a while, the carriage stopped and Stiles felt the minor tug in his gut that let him know there was a distance between him and Adara. When the box opened, big, strong arms grabbed hold of him and hauled him to his feet. His legs were weak, asleep, from being in the same position for so long. Stiles noticed something else as well, his scarf and hat were missing. Panic rose up in his chest as he squirmed in the guards arms. Their grip on him was firm, but he managed to at least fall onto the snow, making them grunt with displeasure. 

They dragged him into a motor car, a truck, shoving him into the back and chaining him to the seat. Across from him sat Lydia, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her panther daemon curled up on the ground at her feet. 

Stiles sighed in relief as his restraints were moved from behind him to his front. He looked down to see his wrists bloodied from the shackles, but at least his shoulders had a reprieve. The chain was bolted to the bench, but there was enough slack in it that he could throttle Lydia. 

Adara’s cage was brought into the back of the truck, sliding up next to Stiles. Adara whined as she saw Stiles, pawing at the muzzle that kept her from speaking to him, or biting other people. Stiles ached for her. He slid across the bench, shoving his fingers into the cage enough so that Adara’s nose, even though it was covered, could bump against him. Stiles managed to scratch her head as well, which made him feel more at ease. 

“You are a lot calmer than I thought you would be,” Lydia spoke up as the doors to the truck shut, then locked. Apparently he was to be left alone with her. Stiles looked down at his pants, thinking about his daggers. Of course, they weren’t there. They were stripped from him. He was defenseless. 

“I’m not calm,” Stiles rasped, his fingers brushing across Adara’s ear. “I’m angry.” 

“Well your anger won’t save you,” Lydia mused. Stiles looked at her, glaring with his jaw clenched. 

“They’re alive, you know.” 

“Who?”

“You know who,” she continued. “The changeling attacked, of course,” she rolled her eyes as if it had been a hardship, “but Morrell doused them both with the same mixture that took you down.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Stiles asked. 

“Because maybe you needed to hear it,” she snipped. “Maybe everything isn’t as it seems.” Stiles rolled his eyes this time, his chains jangling as he put his hands in his lap. “Just... make sure you cooperate.” 

Stiles scoffed, shaking his head as he hit it against the side of the truck. 

“Not a chance.” 

“It will be easier on you.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Stiles spat. “I am going to be tortured, by _you_.” 

Lydia sat silently for a long while before she spoke again. 

“The pain of the mark will be a reprieve from the pain they will cause you if you misbehave.” 

“I will not roll over for them.” 

“You must,” Lydia hissed, looking distraught. “Don’t make it harder-”

“Stop talking to me,” Stiles dictated with a sneer. “I’m not listening to you.” 

They both fell into silence. Stiles closed his eyes, wishing he had died rather than being taken. He had told Derek that was what he had wanted. Instead, Derek had held Adara in his arms, cradling her instead of killing her. Stiles sniffled back his emotions, clearing his throat to get rid of them. 

Now he was going to become the Magisterium’s puppet. 

When the motor car came to a stop, Stiles almost fell off of the bench. The doors opened, revealing that it was night, but the darkness was pushed aside by bright lights which had Stiles covering his eyes as two men escorted Lydia out of the truck. Stiles waited to be dragged out. He watched them carry Adara’s cage ahead of him as two guards that practically carried him down the hallway. 

Everything was bright, white, stark. Stiles felt the urge to close his eyes instead of stare at the walls of the building he was brought into. It didn’t seem right, it didn’t seem natural. He was brought into a large room, just as well lit by large orbs that hummed and buzzed as they let off their light. Stiles didn’t like them. 

Stiles struggled against his restraints as they forced his arms above his head, hooking his shackles there, with his arms spread and his feet on the ground. The shackles dug into his skin, make him wince as he tugged on them. He felt blood dripping down his forearm from his struggle. 

“Finally, he has arrived,” a voice boomed. Stiles flinched, closing his palms, making them into fists as a man approached. He was older, almost bald. He looked nonthreatening but Stiles knew it to be false. 

The man’s daemon, a weasel, skittered around him. Stiles tugged at his chains out of spite. “Aren’t you just full of spirit.” 

Stiles thought about spitting in his face, but then Lydia appeared, escorted by guards. The man looked towards her, and smiled. 

“Lydia, my dear, there you are.” 

“Mr. Argent,” Lydia said, dipping her head in acknowledgement. At the sound of the name Argent Stiles tensed. Mr. Argent noticed, and smirked. 

“You’ve caused us some trouble, Stiles.” 

That time, Stiles did spit. It earned him a smack across the face. He could taste blood as he laughed. 

“Strip him down,” Mr. Argent demanded. That got Stiles’ attention, sent a shiver down his spine. “Mr. Stilinski, I am Gerard Argent, head of the Magisterium. You are going to give us the answers we have been searching for.” 

“Sounds fun,” Stiles muttered, hissing as his sweater and shirt were literally cut off of him with a knife by a guard. Beside Argent, Lydia was biting her lip. 

“I promise you it won’t be.” Stiles braced himself, or he tried, for the pain he knew was coming. “Lydia is very skilled, and has been waiting for you for some time.” 

“You just thought I would stumble across her?”

“You did, didn’t you?” Gerard asked. Stiles groaned as he rolled his eyes. Gerard tugged at Stiles’ hex bag. “We’ll leave this on, so your changeling cannot find you.” 

Stiles shook, not realizing that it would hide his scent from Derek as well as from enemies. Now, with his hands bound, he couldn’t get to it. He desperately wanted it off. “Are you going to cooperate for Lydia?” 

Stiles nodded his head, not looking at either of them. “Good. Lydia, you know what to do.” 

Lydia, silent, walked around Stiles until he couldn’t see her. He flinched as he felt her fingers on his back, pressing on his marks. Stiles gasped in pain, his legs giving out beneath him as he tried to catch a breath. He jerked away from her touch. 

“Stiles, still,” Gerrard called out. Stiles jerked his arm again, then kicked back with his legs until he struck Lydia. The pain was overwhelming, worse than what happened with Deaton. Stiles felt ill, so nauseous. “You idiot,” Gerard seethed, grabbing hold of Stiles’ face. “You will regret that.” 

Stiles showed Gerard his teeth, bloodied by the knock that Gerard had given him. He had ruined Lydia’s reading, not allowing her to see the answers by knocking her to the ground. 

Stiles was weakened by the markings, a residual buzzing throughout his body made his eyes water. He sniffed, trying to get them to go away as he hung from the chains. His stomach roiled in pain as he heard Adara yelp. Stiles screamed, thrashing against his restraints, tears streaming down his face as she was brought into view, held up by Gerard by her fur. Gerard showed her to him as Stiles shook, his body feeling violated by Gerard’s hands on her. Gerard grabbed her by her neck, and squeezed.

“Stop!” Stiles screamed as he panted, his body on fire, sweat dripping off his chin from the strain he was under. “Stop hurting her,” he begged. Gerard laughed at him, then took Adara by the scruff of her neck and held her by his side. Stiles’ muscles were shaking as he cried openly, unable to hold it in. 

“You are mine, Stiles,” Gerard uttered, his face close to Stiles’. “You are my property. Do that again, I dare you.” 

Stiles shook his head, his chest heaving as he looked at Adara. 

“Don’t touch her,” Stiles whispered, barely audible. 

“I will do what I fucking want,” Gerard said. “Now that I have you, you aren’t going anywhere. Your mother thought she could escape, but we got her in the end.” Stiles raged, yelling at the top of his lungs. “But now we have you. You are stronger than she was, you can tolerate more... pain. Again, Lydia.” 

Stiles blacked out as soon as she touched his back, before the answers even came.   
Stiles felt weighed down as his eyes fluttered open. His limbs felt heavy, like they weren’t his own. He moved his head to the side, regretting it almost immediately. His stomach churned in such a way that he emptied whatever was left in his stomach, coughing violently, letting him know that Adara was not near him. He needed her by his side, he felt torn apart from the inside out. He felt his face contorting as he curled in on himself. 

He realized then, that his hands weren’t tied. Stiles sat up, his arms shaking as he pressed his back against a wall. He was on the floor of a room with only one door, with one of the buzzing orbs overhead that provided light. Stiles wiped at his mouth, his chest heaving as he looked around and tried to ignore how he felt with Adara so far away. He felt like he would be sick again at any moment. He didn’t trust his own legs, so he remained seated. 

He was still shirtless, and now shoeless as well. He wiggled his toes just to concentrate on something, not think about the pain, about his situation. Stiles rubbed at his eyes, his breath hitching in the back of his throat. That was when Stiles realized that he was still wearing the hex bag. The thought about the consequences of taking it off, about them getting into his mind. He would rather Derek be able to track him. He took it off, tossing it across the room. He sat there staring it until he heard footsteps approaching his door.

He flinched when the door opened to reveal Morrell and her snake daemon. It slithered into the room and over to him. Stiles wanted to kick it. What surprised Stiles was that Morrell was looking down at him as if she pitied him. Stiles sat up straighter and wiped at his mouth again, making sure his face wasn’t covered in vomit. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked, her voice bouncing off the walls. Stiles scoffed as an answer. 

“I see,” she mused, squatting down in front of him, her eyes falling to his chest. She looked around the room, her eyes falling on the discarded hex bag. “I _see_.” 

“Gonna get into my mind?” Stiles asked. “Use it against me?” 

Morrell tsked at him. Stiles bared his teeth at her, gnashing them together. 

“I don’t need to get into your mind to use something against you, Stiles. Scott can do that for me.” Stiles’ eyes widened at Scott’s name, his head shaking. Morrell looked over her shoulder, towards the door. “Bring him in.” 

“No,” Stiles whispered, his fists clenched. Stiles whimpered when Scott was brought into the room by none other than Chris Argent. 

“I will leave you two alone,” she said with a smile. “To reacquaint yourselves.” 

With that she left them, Scott standing there, looking down at the ground. His daemon wasn’t with him, which worried Stiles. 

“Scott-” Stiles said, but his voice didn’t seem to be working right. “Where’s Kami?”

“They keep her locked up,” Scott answered, still hovering near the door. Stiles wanted to cry at how Scott looked: defeated. Stiles pushed up against the wall, trying to stand. Once he was able to, he moved along the wall until he got to Scott. 

“Scott, I-”

“You didn’t come for me,” Scott said, his voice unbelieving. Stiles gulped, shaking his head, because he hadn’t. He walked over to where he had thrown the hex bag, picking it up, holding it in his hand. 

“I didn’t even know you were alive,” he confessed. “I thought you died.” 

“You left me there.” 

Guilt racked through Stiles as he nodded, tears falling freely down his cheeks. 

“I did, I am so sorry Scott. Things are so fucked up, so fucked up.” Scott shook his head. 

“Not entirely,” Scott whispered. “You just have to do what they say.”

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Scott you don’t know what happens to me-”

“Doesn’t matter, Stiles,” Scott said, his eyes wide. “You don’t know what they could do to us.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked. “What things?” Scott shook his head, dismissing Scott. 

“Just... just promise me you’ll do what they ask you.” 

The door opened, revealing Allison Argent. Stiles took steps backwards, grabbing onto Scott as he did so. Scott pushed Stiles off of him, turning towards Allison. 

“You’ve got a few more minutes,” Allison said to Scott. “That’s all I could get you.” Stiles looked from Scott to Allison, then back again, his jaw dropping. 

“You’re on their side.” 

“What?” Scott asked, “No, Stiles-”

Stiles covered his ears, falling to his knees. Allison was by Stiles’ side within seconds, grabbing at him. Stiles started screaming, kicking, clawing at her as she tried to calm him down.   
“Stiles! Stiles you have to be quiet!” Allison yelled as she pinned him to the ground by his wrists. Scott had Stiles by the legs, sitting on him. 

“Stiles, you have to trust me,” Scott pleaded. “Allison isn’t-”

“Allison is an _Argent_ , Scott!” Stiles exclaimed, still struggling against them. 

“Stiles, stop squirming,” Allison said, letting go of him. Stiles stopped, then. “I may be an Argent but that doesn’t mean-”

“Mean what?” Stiles hissed. “Are you going to let me go? Are you going to get Scott out of this hell? Can you bring me Adara?” Stiles asked furiously. Allison shook her head, looking to Scott. “Then get the fuck away from me.”

Allison got off of him, as did Scott. 

“Don’t make things harder than they need to be, and you will get to be near Adara.” 

“Like I believe you,” Stiles said, glaring at the two of them. “I don’t believe a single thing anyone has said to me in this place.” Stiles looked up at the orb, sneering at it. “I will not submit.” The door opened again, with Morrell returning. She lifted an eyebrow at Allison, as if she was surprised to see her there, but said nothing. 

“Times up,” Morrell said, looking to Scott. “Take him back to his quarters.” 

“Nice fucking quarters,” Stiles gibed from where he lay on the ground. His room was bare. 

“You get what you deserve, Stiles,” Morrell sighed. “You deserve nothing right now.” Stiles laughed, laying his head back against the floor, closing his eyes. “Time for another go.”

“No,” Stiles declared, crossing his ankles as if he was perfectly comfortable where he was on the ground. 

“Did you not listen to Scott?” Morrell asked, kneeling by Stiles this time, her snake by her side. Stiles kicked at it, just because. Morrell lashed out at him, which was what he was going for. Her hand was around his neck, choking him. Stiles mashed the hex bag in Morrell’s face, the inner powder and ingredients filling her lungs as she breathed in. She tumbled backwards, coughing and clutching at her face. 

Stiles scrambled to his feet as guards came rushing in. Two men grabbed her, carrying her flailing body out of the room while others grabbed him, holding onto him, putting his arms behind his back. 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Gerard Argent’s voice boomed around the room, causing Stiles to stop squirming. Stiles looked up from where the guards had him on his knees. “It seems like you aren’t going to make this easy on us.” 

“You would be correct,” Stiles taunted. “I will not.”

“I thought not,” Gerard admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “So you leave me no choice.”

“You going to kill me?” Stiles asked with a smile. Gerard arched an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. 

“You wish, Mr. Stilinski.” 

Stiles shuddered at his words as he was hauled to his feet. “No, with you dead, the markings will disappear. You will be of no help to us. What I am doing to you I cannot explain to you in words, so we will just have to _show you_.” 

Stiles was brought into a room with some sort of contraption with two metal boxes up on tables. Stiles looked around, confused as to not only what it was, but what it could do. 

“Have you any idea what this is?” Gerard asked. Stiles shook his head, which made Gerard smile. “This will make you my puppet. Bring in the subject!” Gerard called over his shoulder. A man in chains was brought in, mumbling to himself. As soon as he laid eyes on the contraption he started screaming, trying to get away from it. Stiles watched in horror as the man was put into one of the giant metal containers. He was locked in there, begging to be let out. 

Next, the man’s daemon was brought in and put into the second container. Stiles shook his head over and over again, trying to turn away as the lights flickered in the room, buttons whirred and the container buzzed angrily. The man’s screamed died out as soon as a blinding light passed between the two containers. 

The daemon was gone, and the man sat there limply. He was alive, but it was like he wasn’t there, as if his soul had been ripped from him. 

Stiles thrashed around, trying to get away from the guards. 

“No!” He screamed, panic ripping through him. They were going to rip Adara from him. They were going to make him into a puppet, leave him hanging limply from a hook and use him. Stiles bit a man, gouging his fingers into someone’s eyes as he fought for his freedom. “No! Addie!” He yelped as they pinned him to the ground. “No, please, no.” 

Gerard was kneeling by him, his hands folded neatly as he looked at Stiles. 

“Yes, Stiles. You are mine, and I would rather you be silent.” Tears welled up in Stiles’ eyes as he watched them bring Adara in. Gerard himself picked her up out of the cage, running his fingers over her fur. Stiles shuddered, tears falling as he whimpered. 

“Addie,” he gasped out as Gerard put her in the container. She was shaking in fear. Stiles sobbed as he was dragged towards his container, his legs giving out beneath him. He crumpled into the box, but then kicked at the door as it was closing. It locked into place and he went insane, banging his hands against the walls. “Adara! Addie don’t leave me, don’t fucking leave me!” 

“Stiles,” Adara whined. “What is going on? What is happening?” 

 

Stiles screamed, outraged that this was his ending. He was trapped, and there was nothing he could do. The machine was buzzing around him, and Stiles knew he was running out of time. He gulped, closing his eyes for only a moment before he opened his palm to look down at his bond, at the intricate knot. 

“Derek,” Stiles uttered as the blinding light flashed before his eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank my betas (again! because you guys are amazing!) lauren, bk, and mel. Without them, I wouldn't have been able to write this fic! And thanks to kim for the awesome summary!
> 
> Thank YOU for reading, and for giving kudos, and for commenting, AND FOR BOOKMARKING. I never thought that this verse would have gotten the attention it did, the love, and the feedback! This was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it :) 
> 
> For information on my future fic adventures feel free to follow me [here](http://slipintothewater.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!

There was a beeping, constant and irritating, that flooded Stiles’ mind. It felt as if it was in his head, taunting him along with the buzzing of the orbs that Stiles knew were around him. He ached all over, his muscles screaming at him, his teeth chattering from the cold. 

He knew he was conscious, but his eyes wouldn’t open as much as he willed them to. His chest felt heavy, as if weights had been placed upon it, keeping him down. His limbs were like lead, unable to be moved, so he laid there, trapped. 

Footsteps approached, a hand on his forehead. Stiles twitched, pulling away from the touch. It surprised him, that he was able to. Stiles felt tears welling up as he remembered the cage, remembered the blinding light. He was trapped in his body because Adara was gone. Gentle fingers wiped at them as they fell down his cheeks, but he shook his head, was able to move his arms and push the hands away. He let out a sob, his muscles called out for him to stop, but he didn’t want comfort, he only wanted Adara. 

“Addie!” Stiles gasped, wrenching open his eyes. The room was bright, blinding due to the light coming from the orbs that Stiles hated so much. It was Lydia who was by his side, looking distraught. “She’s gone.” 

Lydia shook her head, then stood up. Stiles watched her walk across the room, to a metal box on a table connected with wires and buttons. Stiles coughed, looking around where he was laying. He was in a bed, with bandages around his wrists. He was still only in his pants, which reminded Stiles how cold he was. He had shackles on his wrists, over the bandages, and around his ankles so that he couldn’t move. Attached to his forearm was some sort of needle and device that was feeding something into him. Stiles shook his arm, wanting it off. 

Stiles let out a strangled noise as his gut clenched, his body shivering. It felt as though someone was touching Adara, as if- 

“Addie,” Stiles whispered as Lydia turned around, showing Stiles that she was carrying Adara in her arms. Goosebumps covered Stiles’ body as Lydia pet her slowly as she walked over to Stiles, putting Adara down on Stiles’ chest. Stiles had enough slack in his restraints that he could touch her. He ran his fingers along her tail, cupping his hand over her face with the other. 

She was sleeping, or passed out, or drugged. She was breathing, though, with her eyes closed and body limp. Stiles pulled her up to his face, burying his nose into her fur, hiding his tears. “Addie,” he said again. “How-”

“You hid something from Gerard that he wasn’t thrilled about,” Lydia said, sitting back by Stiles’ bed. “And neither was Morrell.” Stiles didn’t care what he did or didn’t hide. He didn’t give a fuck because Adara was here in front of him. “They’ve drugged her because you two can’t be far apart right now. You almost died in the cage.” 

Stiles closed his eyes, not wanting to think about the pain, about the feel of being separated from Adara.

“Stiles, we have to talk about something,” Lydia confessed, putting her hand on Stiles’ arm. Stiles glared at her, his lips pursed. “I’m as much of a prisoner as you are.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles hissed. Lydia frowned. 

“You don’t think that as soon as they found out that I was an Alethiometrist that they didn’t force me to bend at their will?” 

Stiles looked away from her, shaking his head. 

“I am saying that I am sorry, Stiles, for what they are making me do to you.” 

“You could just not do it,” Stiles observed. Lydia rolled her eyes as she shook her head. 

“It isn’t that easy.”

“It is, though,” Stiles implored. 

“Next time they ask me to ask a question, I am going to ask my own,” Lydia admitted, her voice resolute. “I am going to ask if there is somewhere safe for us.”

“Us?” Stiles asked. Lydia looked towards the door, which was open. Stiles could see two guards standing just outside of it. 

“You, me, Scott, Allison-”

“Allison is an Argent,” Stiles seethed. 

“An Argent who is just as trapped as you or I,” Lydia conceded. “She and Scott-”

“Wow, alright,” Stiles said, stopping her. “I already got that, thanks. Best friend and the enemy,” Stiles grumbled. “So you’re going to use me to find out where is safe, but I don’t think you’ve thought this plan through...”

“How do you mean?” 

“Have you seen this place?” Stiles said, his voice hushed so that the guards couldn’t hear him. “This place has enough guards for the entire land, Lydia. And I don’t trust you.”

“You may not trust me, but Scott, Allison, and I are your allies. We are on your side.” 

“You drugged me, Lydia. You brought me here.”

“Morrell is to blame, not me. She is my guardian. If I hadn’t reacted how I did, she would have killed your changeling and father.” At the mere mention of Derek and his dad, Stiles clenched his jaw, closing his eyes. 

He was never going to see them again. 

“That’s great that you have hope of escape, but me? I am just a bit jaded at the moment.”

“I see you’ve awoken, finally.” Morrell’s voice filled the room, making Stiles flinch. Lydia sat up straighter, but did not move from Stiles’ side. “You gave us quite a scare.” 

“You guys should be taking better care of your puppet,” Stiles snapped. “I have no heir, you know.” Morrell gave him a small smile, but said nothing. “Unless you’ve got another Alethiometer laying around, by all means. Use them instead and kill me.” 

“Tell me, Stiles, how long have you been bonded?” Morrell asked. Stiles looked away from her, clenching his fists. “That was quite a trick you played back there, did you know that would happen?”

“What would happen?” Stiles asked, not knowing what she was talking about. 

“That you and Adara wouldn’t be able to be separated because of the soulbond you share with another?” Stiles gulped, shaking his head. Derek had saved him unknowingly from a life as a hollowed out puppet for the Magisterium. Stiles laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. “Who is it, Stiles?” 

Stiles stopped laughing, then. 

“Like I am going to tell _you_.” 

Then, without warning, Morrell grabbed Adara from Stiles’ chest, picking her up. Stiles leaned over the side of the bed and emptied his stomach at the encroachment. Lydia screamed for Morrell to let Adara go, but Morrell only sneered at her. She put Adara back in the box that Lydia had gotten her out of then walked back over to Stiles who was panting for breath. She cupped his face in her hands, her nails digging into his skin, forcing Stiles to look at her. Stiles shook in outrage at her violation. 

And then he felt it, his eyes growing heavier. He could feel power seeping out of her fingertips, oozing into him. 

“No, leave me alone,” he called out weakly. He felt numb, his limbs going limp, relaxed. Morrell was a witch, and he wasn’t wearing the hex bag that Erica had given him. Morrell could get into his mind and there was nothing he could do to stop her. 

“Morrell, Gerard said not to touch him, he could-”

“Shut up, Lydia,” Morrell hissed. Stiles felt himself losing consciousness. He strived to stay awake, though. It was as if he was slipping away into the darkness. “I need to know who he is bonded to.” She turned back towards Stiles, shaking him. “Who are you bonded to!” 

“Fuck _off_ ,” Stiles slurred. 

Pain erupted within him. It felt as though his body was on fire from the inside out. Lydia was tugging at Morrell, then. Stiles heard her screaming for the guards, but he could no longer string together conscious thought. He was yelling, convulsing. 

“Tell me!” Morrell demanded. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” A voice Stiles barely recognized said from the doorway. The pain stopped as soon as Morrell released her grip on Stiles. He could barely breathe, coughing up the pain, gasping for what little air he could as Peter Hale walked into the room with Kate Argent. Stiles whimpered, closing his eyes. “It is my nephew, Derek. I can tell by his stench being all over the boy.”

“Derek is always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong,” Kate crowed as she walked to the other side of the bed, running her fingers through Stiles’ hair. “And if he is bonded to the Alethiometer, well. That just means that he will be coming for him.” Stiles wanted to be sick again, her touch revolted him. He should have killed her in the woods when he had the chance. “Look at you,” she said, pitying him. “They’ve wrecked you, haven’t they?” Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, how to answer. “Get out of here, Morrell. You’ve done enough harm. Take the Alethiometrist with you. I’m sure she has been filling his head with nonsense.” 

Lydia was pulled from the room, leaving Stiles alone with Kate and Peter. Kate sat down in the seat that Lydia had been occupying, her hand slipping into Stiles. Stiles tried to pull it away, but her grip was firm. 

“Tell me, Stiles, how would you like to get out of those restraints?” She asked. “How would you feel about me waking up Adara for you? For you two to have a room to yourselves.” 

“Sounds like a lie,” Stiles croaked. Kate pouted at him, looking back at Peter. 

“He thinks he is talking to Morrell,” she tsked, which only reminded Stiles of the witch. Kate turned her attention back to Stiles. “Stiles, my father realizes that you are important, that we need you. We don’t want to hurt you-”

“You aren’t making sense,” Stiles implored. “Using me as the Alethiometer is hurting me.” Kate waved her free hand dismissively. 

“Well, that is a given. Dear, I am talking about aside from that pain. You could live comfortably, here. You could be cared for.” 

“I’d rather die,” Stiles hissed. Kate dug her nails into his palm. Stiles refused to make a sound. 

“Peter and I are going to go on a trip,” Kate supplied with a smile. “See if we can bring you a visitor.” 

“No,” Stiles growled, knowing she was talking about Derek. 

“Yes,” she said, standing up, kissing him on the forehead. Stiles turned his head away from her. “I have a feeling that if he was here, you would be more cooperative.” 

With that, Kate was gone. Stiles was left alone for hours with the buzzing and beeping. The beeping, he found, was from a machine that he was attached to. He wished it would stop, because it was making it hard for him to concentrate. 

Days passed before Stiles stepped out of the room, shackles around his wrists. A guard was carrying Adara, still in the metal box, drugged into slumber, behind him as he walked through hallways led by two guards. 

Stiles was brought into the same room as before, with the hooks on the ceiling for him to be suspended on. He looked to the floor and waited for them to lift his arms, but they didn’t. Instead, they stood there, waiting for orders. It didn’t take long for Gerard to arrive with Lydia and Morrell in tow. 

“Stiles,” Gerard called out as he walked up to him. “Glad to see you are well enough to walk on your own.” Stiles’ nostrils flared, his jaw clenched. “How are you feeling?” 

“I am breathing,” Stiles supplied coolly. Gerard smiled at him, then nodded his head at the guards. Stiles’ arms were forced above his head as he was hooked up, his arms spread wide. 

This time, they chained his ankles to the ground; he had no movement. 

“Precautions, I am sure you understand. We don’t want you harming the Alethiometrist.” Stiles looked to Lydia, but said nothing as Gerard grabbed hold of his chin, forcing Stiles to look at him. “If you are good, we will wake up Adara for you.” 

Stiles bared his teeth, sneering as Adara would when provoked. 

“Lydia, you know what to do.” 

That time, Stiles didn’t blackout. He wished he had, though. He was tossed into a new room afterwards, one with a bed bolted to the floor, one with blankets and a shirt folded on the bed, along with his hat and scarf. 

His fingers trembling, he wrapped the scarf around his neck, breathing it in as he sat down on the bed. Instead of the normal lights that were around the building, Stiles’ room had an oil lamp that dimly lit up the room, bouncing shadows across the walls. 

It made Stiles feel calm, less on edge. Stiles took the shirt, and slipped it on over his head, grateful for the coverage. His body ached, but he knew that the pain was over, for now. The only thing that remained was the absence of Adara pulling at his insides, making him feel nauseous. 

A short time later, Stiles wasn’t sure how long, the door to his room opened and in walked Scott. Stiles didn’t move until he realized his nausea was gone. He sat up just in time to see Adara padding into the room. 

“Addie,” Stiles whispered as she hopped up onto the bed, immediately exposing her belly to him. He scratched at her tummy, leaning over and burying his face in her fur. “You’re awake.” 

“I am,” she said, her voice weak. “I am so tired.” 

“You’ve been drugged for days,” Stiles told her. “I never thought I’d see you again.” Stiles looked up at Scott. “Is it true?” He asked, “About what Lydia told me?” Stiles lowered his voice so that the guards couldn’t hear him. Scott nodded his head, taking in a deep breath. 

“We don’t know how, but we can’t remain here. This isn’t right, what they are doing.” 

“You’ve got that right,” Stiles sighed, unable to stop touching Adara. He never wanted her to leave his side again. “Did you ask Lydia? Did it work?”

“She is deciphering the symbols,” Scott answered. “I’ve got to go, I was to deliver Adara and that was it.” Stiles nodded, looking down at her. “I am to bring you food, soon.” 

Stiles’ stomach growled. 

“I feel like I have forgotten what bread tastes like,” Stiles admitted. Scott gave him a small smile, nodding his head as he headed towards the door. 

“I will see if they have any.” 

The following day, Stiles was walked out of his room, Adara in tow, without shackles on. He thought they were being presumptuous, letting him go around without restraints, but then again he thought them all idiots, so. If they thought that them giving him his own daemon back would quell his anger, they were wrong. This time when Stiles walked into the room, Lydia, Morrell, and Gerard were already waiting for him. 

“Stiles,” Gerard said in way of greeting. Stiles ignored him, moving to stand next to Lydia. Just as the guards went to move him into place, Chris Argent came running in.

“I come with news of Kate,” Chris said, gasping for air. Stiles sucked in a deep breath, not wanting to hear about Derek, not wanting news. 

“Well, out with it!” Gerard snapped. 

“Their bodies were found, Kate’s and Peter’s. They were attacked.” Stiles’ eyes widened. Gerard looked to him, then back at his son. 

“By what?” 

“Wolves.”

“Wolves _plural_?” Gerard asked, clearly surprised. 

“Yes, it seems like it.” Gerard turned to Stiles, the anger apparent by his facial features. 

“Prepare a team, go after them,” Gerard seethed. “I won’t have them coming after what is mine.” Stiles stiffened, his fists clenched. “Guards, hoist him up. I’ve got some questions that need answering.” 

Gerard made Lydia ask five questions. It took almost an hour, and left Stiles in so much pain that he couldn’t walk back to his room. At least he was able to curl up on his bed with Adara in his arms, licking his face in an attempt to make him feel better. 

Stiles was asleep when guards burst into his room in the middle of the night. He was dragged out of bed, Adara yelping as he was manhandled. 

“Let go of me,” Stiles barked, yanking an arm away from a guard. “I can walk on my own.” 

They let him, surprisingly. His bare feet padded against the cool tiled floor as they marched towards Gerard’s office. Stiles lifted an eyebrow as he entered it, seeing Victoria Argent sitting in a chair, along with Morrell and Lydia. Stiles hadn’t seen Victoria until that moment. It made his skin crawl as he thought about her touching him back at the cabin. That had been so long ago, now. 

“It comes to my attention,” Gerard confided, “that something is amiss.” Stiles looked to Lydia, who was staring at the ground in front of her. “The answers that Lydia have provided me with do not add up.” Stiles visibly winced. Had Lydia been lying about all of the answers? Was she hoping for a death wish? 

“I think they deserve a lesson in telling the truth,” Victoria stated plainly. Lydia was shaking, her lips trembling. Morrell stood up, grabbing hold of Lydia’s hair and pulling her towards Gerard’s desk, pressing her cheek against the top of it. Lydia’s palms were on it, her fingers spread wide. Stiles moved towards her, but a guard stopped him by putting a hand on his chest. 

Without thinking, Stiles bent the guards fingers back, breaking them. Within the blink of an eye, he was able to pull the guard’s dagger from its sheath, then slice the guard across his neck, letting blood spill across the floor. 

Lydia was screaming as Stiles rounded on Morrell. Stiles wanted her blood on his hands, he didn’t care if it meant his own death. He would rather be dead than be in this prison, in constant pain. 

Morrell had Lydia by the throat, both of them standing up. 

“Take one more step and she’ll burn,” Morrell hissed. Lydia screamed as smoke came up from where Morrell had her hand around Lydia’s throat. She was burning her. Stiles growled. 

“Stiles, you can’t possibly think you will win this,” Gerard chided. Stiles’ nostrils flared as Victoria Argent wrapped her arms around him, trying to wrench the dagger from his hands. Stiles rammed her into the wall, himself with her, repeatedly, until her grip weakened. He then rounded his dagger on her, holding it against her neck. 

“Now you fucking let go of Lydia or she dies,” Stiles rasped, shaking Victoria. Gerard motioned to Morrell to let Lydia go. “What are you going to do? Kill us?” He snapped. “We are your weapons, aren’t we? Who else can provide you with what we can?” 

“Sometimes the cost outweighs the product,” Gerard surmised. “You will pay in blood if you-” 

There was yelling, a commotion outside the office. Running, gunfire, and screams. Stiles took the opportunity and struck Victoria on the head with the butt of the dagger. She crumpled to the floor. Gerard raged, grabbing hold of Stiles, forcing him to the ground as a guard opened the door. 

“Sir, we’ve been infiltrated-” 

“Get him,” Gerard rasped. Gerard stepped on Stiles’ wrist, forcing him to let go of the dagger. Stiles was hauled to his feet. “Bring the girl,” he called out behind him as Stiles was dragged kicking into the hallway. It was chaos. In the commotion, Stiles managed to slip just enough that he could grab onto his guard’s dagger. 

It was as if they were asking to be killed. 

Them not restraining him was about to bite them all in the ass. The guard went down easily, and in the mess that was the hallway, no one seemed to notice. Gerard, Morrell, and Lydia were all in front of him. He stayed with them, only because he had to get Lydia away from the witch. 

He knew exactly who had infiltrated the building. Derek had come for him. 

Stiles reached out in front of him, grabbing hold of Lydia’s hand. She jerked, looking at him with wide eyes. He showed her the dagger, then asked her to keep quiet by place a finger over his lips. Lydia nodded, continuing on as Morrell urged her forward. 

They stopped dead in their tracks as they rounded a corner. 

The smell of death filled the air as blood pooled on the ground. Stiles almost slipped on it, having no traction with his bare feet. Stiles took the opportunity, and drove the dagger into Morrell’s side. He needed to be rid of her and her magic, which was the immediate threat. Morrell hissed, reaching out for him. He pulled out the dagger, only to shove it into her again as her hand wrapped around his neck. 

Only, he had his scarf on, and only her fingertips touched his skin. The pain was nothing compared to his curse. He laughed as he stabbed her again, then watched her fall to the ground as her snake daemon disappeared. 

“Stiles!” Lydia screamed as Gerard took hold of her. She had burn marks around her neck from where Morrell had her hand around it, and she had tear-stained cheeks. Stiles was about to charge when a guard came up behind him and grabbed hold of him. 

“Do not kill him,” Gerard hissed as he pulled Lydia down the hall. “We have to get them out of here.” Stiles’s hands were forced behind him once the guard discarded the dagger, tossing it to the ground. He wrapped something around Stiles’ wrists, making a crude version of shackles. Luckily, Stiles still had bandages over his wounds, otherwise he would be bleeding. 

The first person Stiles recognized was Boyd. Stiles’ heart leapt at the sight of him crushing someone’s skull against a wall. Stiles was shoved down a different hall, though. When they rounded a corner, Gerard stopped dead in his tracks. 

“What is this, Allison?” He called out. Stiles managed to peak around Gerard and Lydia, glancing at Allison, who had a her crossbow trained at them. 

No, not at them. At Gerard. 

“Let them go,” she said plainly. 

“You betray me?” He bellowed, not paying attention to Lydia or Stiles. Stiles saw out of the corner of his eye that Scott was inching himself towards his guard. 

It surprised him when Scott impaled him with a dagger right at the base of the man’s skull. He dropped like a fly. Gerard noticed the movement, but couldn’t react in time to Lydia stomping on his foot as Scott cut Stiles’ restraints. Gerard let out a howl of pain as Allison shot her cross bow, hitting him in the thigh. 

The four of them ran, Stiles holding Lydia’s hand to make sure he didn’t lose her. Allison led the way, taking them down a flight of stairs. Once they made it onto a new floor, Erica appeared. 

“Stop where you are, Argent,” she called out. Stiles stepped out in front of her, spreading his arms, but not dropping his hand from Lydia’s. 

“Erica, no!” He panted. “Allison is on our side.” Erica arched an eyebrow, but then rushed forward, bringing Stiles into her arms. 

“You’re alive.”

“Of course I am,” Stiles whispered with relief. “We have to get them out of here,” he said, referring to Scott, Allison, and Lydia. “Where is Derek?”

“Looking for you.”

“And my father?” 

“Waiting for the signal.”

“What signal?” Stiles asked, dread filling him. Erica shook her head, indicating that there was no time. 

“Each of you take one of these,” Erica said, pulling out small hex bags from a side satchel she was carrying. “You must be wearing one as you leave the building, or you won’t be able to get out.” 

She handed each of them one. Stiles put his on. 

“Erica, take them out of here. I have to go find Derek.” Erica nodded, taking Lydia’s hand. Stiles exchanged glances with Scott, hugging him. 

“Take this,” Scott said, handing Stiles a dagger. “I will meet you outside.” Stiles nodded, then ran off. 

He killed five guards before he found Derek. He had just rounded a corner when he saw him, roaming the hall for him. 

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, just loud enough that he knew that Derek would hear him. They ran towards each other. Stiles almost skidded across blood getting to him, almost falling into his arms. 

“Oh, gods,” Derek choked out as soon as his arms were around Stiles. “I thought you would be dead.” 

“If I were dead, you would be too,” Stiles said with a smile. He couldn’t help himself. Derek nodded his head, squeezing him tight. 

“I’ve got to get you out of here, we don’t have much time.” 

Stiles brushed his lips against Derek’s, unable to stop himself from tasting him. He thought he would never get to again, and now he wasn’t going to let the opportunity escape him. 

When the kiss ended, Stiles took Derek’s hand in his, then headed towards a stairwell. Once they got to the bottom floor, Derek took the lead, pulling Stiles behind him. 

The exit was in their sight when Stiles was yanked backwards by his scarf, pulling him down to the ground, sliding across the bloodied floor. 

Gerard was above him, pulling him by the twine of the hex bag. 

The twine snapped, which had Stiles scrambling to hold onto the bag. Derek raged, charging forward. 

It happened in a flash, and he barely felt the pain as Gerard stabbed him. He looked up at him in shock, his jaw open in a silent gasp. 

“No!” Derek screamed, turning into the wolf within the blink of an eye, ripping out Gerard’s throat in one fell swoop. 

Derek turned back into a human almost immediately, his hands applying pressure to Stiles’ wound. 

“Can you walk?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Derek the bag, the hex bag, the twine broke.” Derek shook his head, looking around on the ground for it. Stiles showed him the bag that was in his hand. “It has to be around my neck to work, doesn’t it?” Stiles asked, his chest heaving. “I can’t leave.”

“Yes, you can. We’re getting you out of here.” 

“Erica said-”

“I know what Erica said,” Derek growled as he picked Stiles up, one hand under his knees, the other around his back. Stiles winced as he hooked an arm around Derek’s shoulders, his head leaning against his chest. “I am getting you out of here.” 

“It won’t work,” Stiles whispered, holding the hex bag close to him. 

“Then I will stay with you.” 

“No-”

“I will either bring you through that door with me, or die here with you in my arms. I will not walk out there alone only to die without you by my side,” Derek confessed. Stiles bit his lip, realizing that what Derek was saying made sense. 

If Stiles couldn’t make it out, then he would die. If Stiles died, then so would Derek. There was no dying alone. Stiles wouldn’t be alone. “But I have to try.” 

“Then let me die standing,” Stiles urged. “I don’t want to be carried into death.” Derek let him down slowly, slipping an arm around Stiles’ waist. Stiles kept his arm around Derek’s shoulder as they walked, slower now. 

“I don’t regret it,” Stiles admitted. “The bond.” 

“Nor do I. It is how I found you.” 

“Not because I tossed Erica’s hex bag?” Stiles asked, gasping for breath. 

“No, your scent became stronger then, but before that, I could sense you.” Stiles rest his head on Derek’s shoulder. He was so, so tired. Stiles could see the door up ahead, he could practically feel the magic surging from it, trapping others inside. There were many doors leading out, and this one was void of any. 

“Wait,” Stiles urged as they drew nearer to the door. “Kiss me once more.” With Stiles’ heart beating in his throat, Derek pressed his lips against Stiles’, knocking the breath out of him as Derek’s tongue slipped into his mouth. 

“You are walking out of here,” Derek promised him. Stiles shook his head, tears in his eyes. 

“Erica-” 

“Trust me,” Derek plead. Stiles’s fingers clenched around Derek’s bloodied shirt, his face burying itself into his shoulder as they continued walking. The air got heavier the closer the came to the doors. Stiles felt as though he couldn’t breathe, as if the air was being sucked out of his lungs with every step they took. He yelled into Derek’s shoulder as Derek pushed open the door. 

They stumbled onto the ground, falling on top of each other. Stiles was hyperventilating, his eyes wide. 

“How? How can this be right?” He asked, panicked. He heard footsteps running forward. 

“Signal the Sheriff,” he heard Erica call out. 

“He’s hurt,” Lydia’s voice spoke up. “Oh god, he’s been hurt.” 

“Someone get them up,” Scott called out. Someone picked Stiles up as if he were a child, carrying him. It had to have been Boyd, it could only be Boyd. Stiles felt light headed as his head lolled to the side. He felt warm, though, safe. It was then he realized that Derek was holding Adara. There could be no other reason for him to feel so at peace. 

“I’m okay,” Stiles mumbled. 

“How did you make it out?” Erica asked. “He isn’t wearing a hex bag.” 

“The soul bond,” Derek whispered. “That has to be it.”

“It’s like how he was able to keep Adara. He was unable to be separated from her,” Lydia supplied as they set Stiles down on the ground. 

“They what?” Derek seethed. 

“They tried to separate them, but the bond kept Adara sealed to him.” 

Everyone was silent as Erica ripped open Stiles’ shirt to assess the damage. 

“Boyd, bring me my pack.” Stiles was exhausted. His eyes kept fluttering closed, they grew heavier with each passing moment. He could hear Adara whining, could feel the warmth of Derek petting her, lulling him to sleep. “Stiles, you have to stay with me.” 

The last thing Stiles heard was an explosion, and then his father’s voice calling out to him, telling him to open his eyes. 

**Epilogue**

**six months later.**

“Addie, stop bouncing around,” Stiles heard Derek grumble, his voice gravelly from sleep. Stiles stirred, rearranging himself in their bed, his hand reaching to where he knew Derek was laying, his palm laying on bare skin. 

Then, Stiles felt her paws on him as she jumped around on the bed, barely making it move. 

“Get up,” Adara pleaded. Suddenly, Stiles’ sheet was being pulled away from him. His eyes shot open as his hand reached for the sheet. Adara was too fast for his sleep-addled mind, though. The sheet was pulled off of the bed. Stiles groaned, looking out the window. 

“It is barely past dawn, Addie,” Stiles moaned, shoving his head under his pillow. Beside him, Derek grunted his agreement. 

“You guys promised,” Adara whined, rolling around in the space between Derek and Stiles, her paws in the air. Derek reached them, his hand finding Adara to rub her stomach. Stiles hummed in appreciation to the feeling of warmth that spread through him. 

“We promised horse riding, yes, but not at dawn,” Stiles mumbled from beneath the pillow. “Go bother someone else.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Derek joked. “I’ll get up and make us something to eat.”

“Not anything big, we have to go to Melissa’s for lunch,” Stiles called out as Derek got out of their bed and headed into the main room of their small cabin, Adara in tow. Stiles listened as Derek banged things around and got the fire going. It was a warm morning already, despite the sun being barely visible in the sky. “I want eggs!” Stiles called out. 

“How many?” Derek asked, heading towards the door. Stiles thought about it for a moment as he turned over onto his back, spreading out over their bed. 

“Three,” he answered. 

With that, the door opened and closed without another word from Derek who headed to the chicken coop. Stiles felt the slight tug in his gut of Adara’s distance, but it wasn’t painful, not when she was with Derek. 

It’s been five months since they have lived in their cabin, their own cabin. He and Derek had made it, along with 3 other cabins. They had made themselves a small village, safe from others where Stiles was able to live his life without fear. They helped Scott and Allison make their cabin, along with Erica and Boyd. The third was the biggest, and had just been finished the week prior. It had multiple rooms in two stories, along with a big room on the bottom floor for everyone to dine together when the weather wasn’t nice enough to eat outside. The Sheriff, Melissa McCall, Lydia, and Derek’s sister Laura lived in it. 

Stiles called it their ‘inn’, because it had the biggest kitchen. It was also where the chicken coop was. Out behind it was the pigsty as well. They were working on a couple of buildings for supplies, a real barn for the horses instead of just a covering, a building for Melissa and Lydia’s apothecary, and a physical gate that went around their village in the exact line that Erica had put up the ward. 

Stiles was taken out of his daydream by Derek’s return. 

“Melissa said not to ruin our appetites before lunch, she took all the eggs already,” Derek said, sighing as he sat on the edge of the bed. Stiles smiled up at him, shrugging. 

“Then I will just have to wait.” 

“There is time for riding before lunch, though,” Derek surmised, linking his fingers with Stiles. “Scott and Allison are due back by noon with supplies.” Stiles nodded. 

“They were gone almost a week,” Stiles said as he tugged on Derek’s hand, pulling him further onto the bed. 

“There was a lot to get. They couldn’t rush back with the cows.” Stiles grinned. 

“We’re going to have cows.” 

“Don’t forget about the goats,” Derek pointed out. “And a cart full of grain.”

“I am going to eat all of the bread,” Stiles laughed as he captured Derek’s lips with his. Derek smiled into the kiss as he wrapped his arms around Stiles, pulling him in close. “I can’t believe this is real,” Stiles admitted as the kiss ended. 

“I know,” Derek hummed in agreement, his lips sliding slowly across Stiles’ skin, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down his neck, his fingers tracing over Stiles’ markings, over his curse. Stiles didn’t have to worry about his curse now, though. It was in the past. His eyes cast across their room, landing on his scarf and hat that hung upon a hook, untouched since they moved in. 

What was past, was past. He and Derek had a cabin in the woods, surrounded by friends and family who Stiles _trusted_ with his life. He was going to live, that much he knew. He was going to live his life without fear, without trepidation. 

Without a curse.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks: to kim for the summary, to lauren and bk for beta'ing, and to mel for the preface! This wouldn't have happened without you. This fic is all daunt's fault, she is an instigator (even if all she did was say "omg daemon au do it").
> 
> *bites nails nervously* 
> 
> rating will go up eventually. 
> 
> comments make me keysmash.
> 
> date: please do not REPOST this fic anywhere else without my consent. Please do not put it on GoodReads that is a site for PUBLISHED works, not fic.


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